What's Worth Fighting For
by terminallyhappy
Summary: Everyone has family issues, but they have bigger consequences when your mom's a professional killer or your dad is a mad scientist. The adventures of Jace, Isabelle, and Clary when circumstances throw them together on an intercontinental race to save themselves and the ones they love.
1. Chapter 1

**Assignment**

Isabelle waited.

She had never actually seen the leader of the SEP. Rumors circulated about the Cobra's ruthlessness; a bloody ascent to the top; over a hundred successful missions and counting.

All in all, not someone she thought she would ever meet. But then again, she had not dreamed of this profession as a child. Parents in the agency guaranteed most children a spot in this elite institution, but Isabelle had dreamed of normalcy. Not a life of killing and secrecy.

The door to the waiting room opened smoothly and soundlessly. Isabelle stood immediately, her perfect posture an expression of pride in her work that she dared not deny.

The golden, too-long hair of the man who stepped in framed his smirk. "Always prepared, aren't you, Izzy?"

Isabelle huffed. "Shut it, Jace." But she relaxed her shoulders and slumped back into the leather upholstery of the waiting room seats. Jace took the seat next to her, arm draped over the arm of his chair.

"Nervous?"

"What do you think?"

Jace grinned. "You might be. I'm not."

"Of course not," Isabelle said, rolling her eyes. They lapsed into silence, their anticipation filling the air.

Finally the woman sitting at the receptionist's desk stood. "Special Agent Herondale will see you now."

Isabelle and Jace walked towards the door. Apprehension filled Isabelle as she stepped past the receptionist, one manicured hand holding open the door. She spared one involuntary glance towards Jace and wished that he had the ability to fear, so she wouldn't be the only uneasy one in the room.

A long, oval table with dark wood grain took up the majority of the room. Plush chairs ringed the conference table, and at the head of the table sat a woman.

Pale hair streaked gray and blond twisted into a bun and speared with silver chopsticks, likely lethal, followed the regulation haircut with some artistic license. Gray suit clothed narrow shoulders, the only part of her visible over the high back of the chair.

The chair turned. A grim, lined face of a pallid shade set with piercing gray eyes looked Isabelle and Jace up and down. The Cobra's reputation seemed manifest itself in that merciless face.

Her soundless examination chilled Isabelle.

Jace's clearing of his throat echoed in the room and startled Isabelle, though she smothered her reaction.  
The Cobra raised a thin eyebrow. "Yes, Mr. Herondale?"

"Special Agent Herondale, why are we here?" Jace asked. The juxtaposition of their names sparked momentary confusion in Isabelle, though she had already known Jace's family connections.

"Mr. Herondale, you and Miss Lightwood have been called in for a debrief on your next assignment."

"We usually receive those from Special Agent Lightwood."

"In light of recent…events, I have decided to personally explain."

Isabelle swallowed.

The Cobra stood and moved towards them, a manila folder in her hand. "Pangborn Industries has appeared on our radar again. Shipments of unidentifiable cargo from the Nevada desert attracted attention last month when a warehouse worker was shot. It was covered up as an accident at work, but the bullet matches another found at the site of a known Pangborn hit."

"And you want us to find the shooter," Jace stated, his attention diverted as he ran through plans.

"Not quite. The shooter's whereabouts are being tracked by a separate team." The Cobra laid open the folder. The top sheet displayed a beautiful view of the Nevada desert at sunset. "You two are going to track the shipment to its destination."

"It will have arrived already," Jace objected.

The Cobra's smile was as thin and melancholy as the rest of her. "Did you think it would be that easy?"

Jace frowned slightly. "So you want us to follow the trail of a shipment that left a month ago."

"Yes, Mr. Herondale."

"Are we dismissed now?" Jace asked, turning away slightly.

"Do not leave, Mr. Herondale," the Cobra said sharply. "We are not done here."

Not for the first time, Isabelle wished for Jace's poker face as her own paled.

"The Society's board has decided that the events of March were not your fault. However, they did note your actions as negligent in some cases, and you will not be promoted to full agents."

Isabelle's heart sank, though she had hardly expected otherwise.

"However," the Cobra continued, and hope welled inside Isabelle. "The board has decided to give this wave of younger candidates one last try. But if you fail again, this experiment is over. This is your second chance."

Both Isabelle and Jace nodded once, a quick jerk of their heads.

"Now you are dismissed."

Jace turned immediately, but Isabelle held her ground as she worked up her courage. Jace shot her a pointed glance, motioning for her to leave. But Isabelle ignored her as she tried to make her voice come out strongly.

Instead, it broke as she blurted, "Wait! Special Agent Herondale, please wait."

Those gray eyes fixed on Isabelle. "Yes, Miss Lightwood?"

"Have you heard anything about my brother?"

The Cobra was still as she scrutinized Isabelle. Then: "No, there has been no contact from Mr. Lightwood."

Isabelle fought for control as she nodded once, then turned and tried to slow her pace from running out the door.

The door closed noiselessly behind them as they stood once again in the waiting room. Jace made no move to comfort Isabelle, but his silence was uncharacteristically sympathetic.

"Let's go," Isabelle managed, striding towards the exit. "We have a shipment to track."

Jace didn't respond, but his footsteps followed her out of the SEP building.

* * *

_and we're back!  
__this story is going to be much different than my first one. i hope you'll still enjoy it. if you're reading this, then thank you for waiting for me, especially those that I spoke to about a new story-you know who you are.  
__i'll always love you, readers. thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Discovery**

"Get the hell out of here, punk!" the raggedy old man shouted.

She tumbled off the bench as his gnarled hand pushed her shoulder roughly. The old man pulled his blankets over him and lay down where she had been sitting moments before.

Her rough awakening aside, Clary felt terrible. She suffered sleep-deprivation like she never had before, and all she really wanted was an hour of sleep. Just one measly hour. But every bench or corner she encountered seemed to be property of someone else who had no qualms about knocking around a smaller-than-average teenage girl.

She would just have to wander the streets again for another place to stay.

Clary set off on weary feet toward a section of the city that she hadn't tried yet. Ever since she had stumbled off the Amtrak train, she had explored what felt like the entire of New York City, but was probably only one tiny section of it. The gleaming metal of the tall buildings was foreign to Clary, and impersonal. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

Her aimless roaming led her down an alley onto a larger, but still dingy street. It was the kind of place where she imagined gangs and drug dealers would hang out, but the way was clear of criminals as far as she could tell.

The street ended at a large storage building. The sign declared it as Universal Shippers, with an insignia next to the words that looked like an intertwined P and I. Clary headed towards it, hoping to take shelter.

Clary pushed against the side door, finding with mixed surprise and relief that it was unlocked. She wondered how it had come to this, her sneaking into unfamiliar buildings for a place to sleep for the night.

As she moved further into the building through the corridor created by the stacked crates, she began to feel uneasy. But sleep was foremost on her mind and she ignored her suspicion, forging on. Then her concern grew as she recognized the crates. The insignia-an intertwined P and I, once again. She'd seen them only a day ago-

The crack of a shot cemented her fears.

Clary's first instinct was to turn and run, but the sound of a pebble being kicked to her right and back seemed close, too close. She inched forward and ducked quickly behind a smaller pile of boxes off to the side.

A flash of gold, then the cry of a man in pain pierced the silence.

As the cry died away into whimpering, Clary stood, the cramping in her legs hindering her movement. She stumbled away from the click of the safety on a gun and the subsequent shot that silenced the moans.

But clumsy as she was, she toed a stone that skittered away loudly in the large room.

She stopped short and listened for footsteps, but heard nothing.

Nothing. Not even movement from the unknown shooters. Apprehension grew in her stomach as she moved to run, abandoning attempts at stealth as footsteps resonated behind her.

The flight evoked the memories she most wanted to avoid, and she choked back a sob as she tried to breathe evenly. She took a moment to pull up her black hood and obscure her bright red hair, hoping against hope to evade the pursuers.

Clary realized she was completely lost. She could no longer hear the pattering run of the other person, but she dared not stop. Finally she hunched over and breathed deeply, unable to move any longer.

In this position, she heard, too late, footsteps. They came closer till Clary could see the black booted feet of a man. "Stand up, girl."

Clary stood and examined the man who had cornered her. Black gear covered him from neck to feet, only evincing his tall, strong form. The glint of his hair, even in the darkness, pulled her gaze towards his golden eyes. Eyes that were scrutinizing her closely.

The girl came up next to him. She flipped her long black ponytail over her shoulder as she holstered her gun, traces of disappointment evident on her face.

The man grinned. "What do you think, Isabelle?"

Isabelle shrugged. "She's small, harmless-looking. By the looks of her, she hasn't had a bath in a while."

Clary remained expressionless, though the comment stung.

"What's your name?" Isabelle asked.

Clary hesitated before replying, "Clary. Clary Fray."

"Pretty name, Clary. What are you doing here?" the golden-haired man asked.

"I was just trying to find somewhere to stay for the night, and this place was here."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, of course it is. What else would there be?"

"Are you sure you have never heard of Pangborn Industries?"

She shook her head weakly, hoping her face betrayed none of her internal recognition as Isabelle crossed her arms.

"Jace, what are you doing?"

Jace never took his eyes of Clary as he replied, "I'm interrogating the suspect."

"Suspect? She's just a girl. How would she have anything to do with this?"

"Haven't you learned yet, Izzy? Don't trust anyone."

Clary interrupted. "I don't know anything. Let me go."

"No. You're staying with us."

"Jace, what the hell?"

"Isabelle, she's seen us. Besides, I don't believe her." Jace grabbed Clary's arm and pulled her with him.

"Let go of me! Where are you taking me?" Clary hit him on the arm as hard as she could, but it didn't seem to affect him at all. He merely grabbed her other arm and held both wrists with one hand.

"First, you're going to see a body."

Isabelle asked from behind them, "Why do we need to show her the body?"

"To see if she recognizes him, of course."

"I won't," Clary told him.

"We'll see," Jace replied. They finally stopped a few feet away from the body of a man dressed in black.

Clary swallowed her disgust at the small, bloody hole in the middle of his forehead. She looked away from the man's face, noting the tattoo on his wrist with a shiver. So she didn't know him, but she knew why he was here.

"I told you. I don't know him." Clary tried pull her hands away, but made no headway against Jace's iron grip.

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "We should leave."

"You're right." Jace turned from the body without a second glance and led the way out another back entrance.

The night air was bitingly cold against her skin, flushed from exertion. Clary couldn't stop the shiver that went through her.

"Cold?" Jace asked with a smirk. Clary glowered back, but didn't respond.

"I could make you warmer," Jace continued, the smirk only growing.

"Jace, stop flirting with the prisoner," Isabelle ordered exasperatedly.

"Does this happen often?" Clary asked, frustrated.

"More often than you'd think," Isabelle replied unexpectedly. She stalked past them.

"Where are you going?" Jace inquired in a calm tone.

"I don't know about you, but I'm cold. And so is she. So I'm going to the car. Where were you going?"

"You want to show her the car? What about protecting our secrecy?"

"Like you said, she's already seen us. And it's just a car, Jace. Stop being so dramatic."

Jace huffed and caught up to Isabelle, Clary pulled alongside him. He replied with a miffed attitude, "You're just grumpy because I got to kill him."

"Believe me, that's the last thing on my mind right now," Isabelle responded as a black van came into sight.

"Black van? Isn't that cliché?" Clary commented as Isabelle climbed in.

"Clichés work, you know." Jace moved his hands to her waist to lift her in, but Clary used her newly freed hands to slap his away.

"I'll do that myself, thank you very much." She climbed in with a little difficulty, as the ledge was a bit high for her short legs.

"Suit yourself." Jace jumped into the driver's seat and closed the door.

Isabelle sighed. "Jace, where are we going to put her?"

"She can sit in the back."

"The point of keeping a hostage isn't to kill her with your driving when she's sitting in the car without a seatbelt."

"You're one to talk. You drive like a maniac."

Clary cleared her throat. "How about I just sit back here and hold onto something?"

Isabelle laughed. "Good luck with that. Now, can we please leave? We've already been here longer than necessary."

"Lighten up, Izzy." Jace started the car as Clary grabbed the door handle for support.

\Isabelle lowered her voice till it was barely audible."Listen to me, Jace. If you mess this up, I will personally kill you and cover it up so no one will ever know."

Jace's voice softened. "I'm not going to mess anything up, Isabelle. I know what I'm doing."

"I hope you do."

Clary leaned her head against the window as the van sped through the streets in a route so twisted Clary couldn't keep track of where they were. Her face pressed against the frigid glass, she closed her eyes and fell into blissful, long-awaited sleep.

* * *

"You do it."

"It was your idea!"

"But I think she'd prefer that you did it. You know, since you're a girl."

"Fine." Isabelle bent down and shook Clary's shoulder.

As she jolted to awareness, her mind still clouded by sleep, the girl's green eyes radiated confusion.

"Turn around, please."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Clary turned as Isabelle searched for something she could tie around Clary's head. "Jace, give me that shirt."

"That's mine!"

"I need it to blindfold her."

"You're going to blindfold me?" Clary protested, spinning back around to glare at Isabelle.

"Only for a little while. Turn around, would you?"

Jace threw the shirt grudgingly at Isabelle, who folded the black cloth and secured it with a knot at the back of Clary's head.

"Okay, let's go."

Isabelle and Jace jumped out of the van. Jace reached up to help Clary down and steered her with a hand on the shoulder as they walked through the empty parking garage. He grinned at Isabelle.

Isabelle rolled her eyes back. He was having entirely too much fun.

Luckily, no one was in the hallway to question the appearance of a blindfolded hostage at the hotel. Jace slid their key card and opened the door, pulling the cloth away.

Clary took in the room incredulously. "This is a hotel."

"Yup." Jace flopped back on the bed.

"You made me think that we were going to some secret spy base! Why would I need a blindfold for this?"

"That's what I said," Isabelle muttered.

"You're a hostage. And you don't know which hotel, do you?"

"I could look out the window."

"But you're not going to."

Clary crossed her arms. "Whatever. There's only one bed in here."

"There's an adjoining room. This is Jace's side."

"It's really neat," Clary observed.

"Not all guys are slobs, you know," Jace retorted.

"Jace, stop annoying the hostage. You, come with me." Isabelle took Clary by the wrist and pulled her into the next room.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Isabelle said.

Clary looked as if she were about to object, but thought better of it and nodded.  
Isabelle dumped the pack on the floor next to the bed and walked back towards the door.

"Stay here. I'll be back." Isabelle said without looking back.

In the next room, Jace was humming to himself as he placed a gun on the nightstand. Isabelle waited for him to notice her.

"I know you're there, Izzy. What do you want?"

"Why is she here?" Isabelle asked quietly.

"Who? Clary? We need her."

"For what, exactly?"

"She knows something."

"How do you know she knows something?"

Jace smirked. "What, is this an interrogation?"

"If we don't need her, we should abandon her now, not when we're across the world from where she came from. Speaking of which, what if she has family? They'll miss her, and we'll be screwed."

"We won't have to worry about that. And we need her, Isabelle. Trust me." Jace stared solemnly at her, an expression that made most girls melt, but merely irritated Isabelle further.

"What does she know that you think is so important?" Isabelle persisted.

"I'm not sure. But whatever it is, it's scary enough to her that she can't even admit it to herself." Jace wavered. "I saw it in her face."

Isabelle huffed, but didn't question him further. She trusted Jace with her life, though she was dubious about this development.

"Fine, she can stay. Although, Mom will kill us if she finds out that we took a girl off the streets."

Jace eased back into the pillows. "Look, Isabelle. I know what this assignment means to you. And I'm just as dedicated to succeeding as you are."

"That's nice to know, Jace." Isabelle didn't meet his eyes.

"There's something else." Jace leaned forward.

"No." Isabelle was trained in deception, but some things she couldn't hide from her partner.

"This is about Alec, isn't it?" Jace swung his legs off the bed. "Isabelle, you know he'll have to come back on his own. The Society isn't going to waste manpower looking for him."

"I know, I just thought maybe we would find him if we were quick enough. And this girl is going to slow us down." Isabelle choked down the lump in her throat, determined not to show her emotion.

Jace put an arm around her shoulders, shocking Isabelle. Jace normally shunned physical contact, unless he was punching someone. "Hey, it'll be okay. I promise I'll keep a lookout for leads."

"Thank you," Isabelle whispered. They stood like that for a moment, before Jace withdrew his arm and stepped away, looking slightly uncomfortable.

The silence suddenly hit Isabelle. "I left her alone for way longer than I thought I would. We should check on her."

"Don't worry about her. She'll be there." Jace trailed after her nonetheless as Isabelle opened the connecting door gently.

Clary's red hair spilled over the pillow as she curled on the bed, sound asleep. Isabelle's mouth gaped.

"She was just asleep!"

"I don't think she's slept for a very long time," Jace murmured. Isabelle cast a sharp glance towards him. He watched the girl intently. Isabelle wanted to think that he was analyzing her body language, how easy it would be to break her and free the secrets she held. But she saw, in spite of herself, that it could be more than that.

Though she was bursting to reprimand Jace for checking out the hostage, she held back. Nagging Jace all day made her feel like his mom.

* * *

"Wake up, Clary."

Clary smiled and stretched. "In a minute." She rolled onto her side and clutched the sheets tighter. Simon always woke her up like clockwork every morning. She wondered how long she could put it off this time.

"Come on, Clary." A hand shook her shoulder. "Or you'll miss something pretty."

"Simon, I've seen the sunrise before. It's beautiful, but it's an ungodly hour. Not right now."

"What are you talking about?" the voice asked with an irritated tone. Clary cracked an eyelid open, mouth open to ask Simon what he was talking about, when she saw the sheets.

Gold and embroidered, not white and bland. And the torso in front of her was wider, more muscular than Simon's. Clary blinked, and Jace came into focus.

"What do you want? Why are you waking me up?"

"I didn't think you'd want to miss it."

"Miss what?"

"This." Jace gestured at himself. Clary frowned.

"I don't see anything worth waking up for," she retorted sleepily, turning away. But Jace's hand on her shoulder kept her still.

"Oh, no you don't. We have to leave. Get up."

"Can't you just leave me here? This bed is really comfortable."

"No, actually. Though, if you keep describing how comfortable that bed is, I might be tempted to try it myself." Jace sat on the edge of the bed and began to lie down, but Clary had already rolled out the other side.

"What are you doing?" she yelped.

"Trying the bed out." Jace sat up. "Oh, good. You're up. Get ready, we'll be leaving in five minutes."

"That wasn't very nice," Clary muttered, but she followed his instructions and freshened up in the bathroom for the first time in what felt like forever.

Coming out of the bathroom, she saw Jace standing by two black bags. "Where's Isabelle?" she asked.

Jace replied without looking at her, "Downstairs, checking us out."

"I still find it bizarre that you guys are some kind of secret agents, but you're living in a hotel."

"We don't have a place to stay in New York. It's too close to the headquarters."

"And where are those?"

"Like I'd tell you," Jace scoffed.

Clary bristled. "Well, why don't you tell me what I'm doing here? You took me against my will. I should call the police."

"If you wanted to leave, you would have tried to escape much earlier."

Clary couldn't deny his logic, and repressed a pout. "But why did you take me anyway? I mean, I appreciate the free place to sleep. Food would be nice, too."

Jace rolled his eyes. "We'll get food later. As for why you're here-we can use you."

Clary didn't particularly like the sound of that.

The door beeped, and Isabelle popped her head in. "Ready? Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Clary asked, following Jace out the door.

Jace hefted a bag and grinned at her. "That's top secret."


	3. Chapter 3

**Guilt**

"If only we weren't on assignment," Isabelle sighed aloud in a rare moment of distraction.

They stared at the departures board, Jace tapping his foot impatiently with a hand on Clary's elbow.

"We could go anywhere," Isabelle continued. "Paris, London, Vienna-"

"So we're not going to Paris? Damn, I've always wanted to see it," Clary remarked.

"I told you, you'll see where we're going when we get there," Jace said.

Isabelle dragged her eyes away from the listings. "We should get going. The plane leaves in an hour."

Clary struggled to keep up with Jace as he strode down the walkway. Along with her short legs, she lagged because she was gaping at the architecture. "The ceiling is so high. And the windows-you can see out so far! Look at all the planes. I've never seen anything like it."

"You've never been in an airport?" Jace faced her, incredulous.

"No."

"The first time, and she doesn't even have to go through security lines," Jace muttered.

"Security lines?"

"Those long lines back there? People put in their belongings for inspection. You have to take off your shoes, jacket, any jewelry."

"But isn't that violating people's privacy?"

"Sure. People still have to do it. After 9/11, anyway."

"9/11?" Clary was taken aback by Jace's solemn tone.

"You don't know about 9/11?"

"Nope. What's that?"

"I'll explain later." Jace looked away, looking unsettled.

Clary sniffed as a whiff of warm, scented air crossed their path. "Is that food?"

Jace sighed. "Isabelle, we'll catch up. This one's hungry."

Isabelle glanced back. "All right, but don't take too long."

"Of course not." Jace returned his attention to Clary. "Come on. Let's get something to eat."

Jace led her to a shop displaying twisted, golden brown shapes and smelling of delicious food.

"What are those?"

"You've never seen cinnamon pretzels? Deprived child!" Jace gaped at her. "These are the best things on earth. Warm, sweet bread that heats your insides. Try one, before you die without fulfilling your life!"

Clary coughed. "Dramatic, aren't you."

Jace didn't answer, stepping to the front of the line. "Two large cinnamon pretzels, and a bag of pretzel bits."

Clary watched, wide-eyed, as the man behind the counter handed the white paper bag to Jace.

Jace handed a pretzel bit to Clary. "Careful, it's hot."

She popped it in her mouth and closed her eyes at the first bite of solid food in more than a day. "This is amazing."

"Wait till you taste the cinnamon." Jace handed her bites of food as they walked. Only the rumbling of the black suitcase rolling on the tiled floor disturbed the silence.

Jace took the suitcase from her after a minute. "Here, eat it yourself."

"Don't you want any?"

"I'm fine."

Clary eyed the suitcase, which was suspiciously heavy. "What's in that thing?"

"The reason why we probably don't want to go through customs," Jace replied casually.

Isabelle sat, legs crossed, in one of the black adjoining seats under Gate 12. Clary made to sit as well, but Isabelle stood when she caught sight of them.

"Mom cancelled our tickets."

"What? Why?"

"Actually, she commissioned the SEP's jet for us." Isabelle smiled for the first time that Clary had seen.

"I bet Imogen was happy about that," Jace mused with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"The jet is coming out of its garage right now. There's a special exit we have to use."

"Lead the way."

Out on the tarmac, Clary caught her breath. The jet was as large as a building, sleek and shining in the sunlight. It was unmarked, unlike all the other ones she'd seen. Steps descended from a small, rectangular opening in the side.

Isabelle's heels clicked on the metal steps as she ascended. The regularity of the noise drilled into her head with an unquenchable rhythm.

She wobbled, her hand flying out to catch onto something, and finding Jace's hand. Glancing back, she saw Jace behind her, one hand on hers and the other pulling up the bulky suitcase.

"Thanks," she muttered. With Jace's hand to steady her, she ducked into the plane with little fanfare.

The interior was spacious, plush seats in groups of four arranged around small, round tables. Isabelle draped herself over a chair and sighed. "Thank god. At least I know this is clean."

"For all you know, the last people who used this plane left the bleeding body of the latest world criminal in that chair," Jace quipped airily.

Isabelle's glare could have cut glass. "Thanks so much for that image."

"You've seen dead bodies before, Iz." Jace lifted the suitcase into the overhead compartment, then sat across from Isabelle.

He patted the seat next to him. "Clary, sit."

Clary gingerly navigated around their legs and relaxed into the window seat. Jace leaned over and lifted the window screen. "You can watch as we take off."

Clary peered out. Tiny people and vehicles sped around on the tarmac far below. To her left, she could see the edge of an expanse of silver wing. The window pane was visibly thick and cold to the touch.

The jet lurched suddenly, surprise pushing the air out of Clary's lungs.

The plane moved more slowly than Clary expected, though she supposed it was rather bulky to maneuver. She turned back to the window and gasped as a roar went up, accompanying the sight of a plane lifting into the sky.

"Are we going to do that?"

"Yes. Don't be scared."

"I'm not scared," Clary informed Jace loftily. "It looks fun."

Isabelle shuddered. "I hate takeoff and landing. My stomach always feels like it's going to drop out of my body."

"Wouldn't that be an interesting sight," Jace muttered.

Suddenly the plane sped up, a rumbling crescendo that rattled Clary from head to toe. Her body pressed flat against the back of the chair and she gripped the armrest, inadvertently touching Jace's elbow.

Another lurch, and sudden weightlessness made Clary's head feel light.

The airport receded quickly, joining the multitudes of buildings as part of a patchwork pattern of trees and roofs, a lone gray highway snaking through. Clary reveled in the sight. There was something so liberating about it, as if she was on the top of the world and had the power to do anything.

Isabelle stretched. "I'm going to go see what else is in this place. I've always wanted to be in a private jet." She stood and walked steadily to the back of the plane.

"Isn't this yours?" Clary asked Jace.

"We've never traveled on it before. It's been business-class commercial flights for us so far," Jace explained. "I guess Maryse-that's Isabelle's mother, Special Agent Maryse Lightwood-came through for us, finally."

"So you guys have family in the business?"

Jace laughed. "You make it sound like the Mafia. But yes, family connections run up and down the lines of authority in the SEP." He noticed Clary's bewildered expression. "Society of Espionage and Protection."

Clary nodded, though she didn't recognize the name.

"And the Mafia is a criminal association."

"I know that. I watched The Godfather."

Jace stared. "You watched The Godfather, and you don't know about 9/11?"

"When was 9/11?"

"2001."

"Oh, well, we didn't have a T.V. till a couple years ago. So I probably wouldn't have heard of it."

"And you chose to watch The Godfather."

"That wasn't me. That was Simon and the other kids." Clary stopped herself from giving any more away. "Anyway, haven't you watched it? It's really good."

"Of course I've watched it. What kind of guy would I be if I hadn't watched such a masterpiece of intrigue and death?"

"I was the one who chose that movie, not you," Isabelle contradicted as she returned with three glasses of water.

"Water? That's it?" Jace picked up his cup gingerly.

"Jace, you're too young to drink." Isabelle draped herself over the seat gracefully, glass in hand.

"Wasn't there juice or something?"

Isabelle's thin eyebrows climbed up her forehead. "You're a bit old for juice, don't you think?"

"Too young, then too old? Isabelle, make up your mind."

"Dramatic," Clary murmured again.

Isabelle's laugh was a mirthful chime that startled Clary. Isabelle was so unpredictable, at once cool and then cordial towards Clary.

Simon would have called her a free spirit, if he could manage any coherent thought at the sight of Isabelle's glamorous beauty.

Even as she shook her head at Simon internally, a wash of nostalgia welled up inside Clary, and she swallowed. Turning her head to avoid the scrutiny of her companions, she looked into the glare of the sun slanting through the window. Rays of sunlight shone through the cottony layers of clouds.

There had been a summer afternoon, watching clouds through the window with Simon. A monstrous, dark gray storm had rolled across their vision, engulfing the blue sky. Soon afterwards, lightning had struck miles away, but still visible, accompanied by a crash of thunder. Not like these-these were white, soft-looking.

Simon had told her then that a fluffy cumulus cloud weighed 2.2 billion pounds, and a thunderstorm weighed 2.3 billion pounds. Before, she had wondered how something so innocent-looking could be so deceptive. But now, Clary thought that really, clouds were a lot like people. On the outside, they could be pure and perfect, or dark and troubled, but either way, everyone was weighed down by secrets.

* * *

Slumping back against his seat, Jace half-closed his eyes. "How long is the flight?"

"Nearly nine hours." Isabelle flipped the magazine closed and threw it on the seat next to her. "I'll be right back."

As Isabelle walked away, Jace felt the fatigue of the past week fall over him. He hadn't allowed himself a comfortable night's sleep since Alec went missing. For the first month, remorse had kept him awake. Recently, it had become more of a vigil.

But now they were getting a second chance, and he felt truly relaxed from this sense of purpose, relaxed enough to doze off in the cushioned seats of the private jet.

* * *

Isabelle slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. For a private jet, the lavatory was still claustrophobically small, and she eventually just sat on the closed lid of the toilet in search of a comfortable position.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and caught her breath at the background: a picture of the three of them, Alec rolling his eyes and grinning in the center while Jace and Isabelle posed as mock Charlie's Angels, finger guns high and proud.

They'd taken the photo before this life had become so intensely real for them, when their parents' profession still seemed glamorous and exciting. She tried to think of when it had all changed, when the danger seemed chilling instead of exhilarating, when family connections overrode friendship in priorities.

After Alec's disappearance, Maryse Lightwood had backed away from the world. She turned away visits from family friends, barely spoke to her husband, and took Max out of school, as if she could protect the son she had left. Eventually, she came out of her seclusion and began a relentless campaign to find Alec. But through all this, she had left Isabelle to fend for herself.

She kept training, though the chances of her being restored to active duty were slim. She completed simulations, sparred with Jace-but through it all, hope for the future was shadowed by the circumstances.

When the second chance was offered, she expected all her excitement and dreams to come flooding back. But it hadn't. Though she was completely committed to this mission, apprehending the suspect no longer had any thrill to it. The dead bodies were no longer spoils; they were clinically hidden, without any pride in the achievement that she used to feel. The worst day came when she looked at Jace and saw not her partner and almost brother but another reason the board would approve them, because of his name.

Even when she'd quashed the thought and denied it vehemently to herself, it was just another piece of remorse to add to the growing pile.

She'd come in here to think away from Jace, who was too perceptive to overlook her distress, but now she was holding the phone to her ear and hoping that Maryse would pick up.

On the fourth ring, she did. "Hello?"

"It's me, Isabelle."

"Oh, yes, Isabelle. Is there a problem with the plane? I can make some more calls if they're not listening to you-"

"No, Mom, it's not that. I just-" Isabelle wondered what Maryse would say if Isabelle called just to say hello. Likely scoff and scold her for being distracted. "I just wanted to know if there was any news about Alec."

Maryse was silent.

"There is, isn't there." Isabelle clutched the phone tighter. "Mom, you have to tell me, please."

"Isabelle, don't beg, it's unbecoming," Maryse chided. Isabelle felt anger turn her stomach, but she quashed it as Maryse continued. "But yes, there's news."

* * *

"Jace. Jace, wake up."

Jace opened his eyes immediately. "Isabelle. What's wrong?"

"I talked to Mom. There's news about Alec."

Sleep slipped away in a heartbeat. "Tell me."

"The GPS tracker went off yesterday. Mom sent in a team, but the coordinates led them to an empty patch of the Atlantic Ocean."

The ocean? "Could he have been put on a boat?"

"They found a buoy. With the tracker attached to it." Isabelle bit her lip.

Jace knew she was doing the same thing as him, grasping at any other option than the one that seemed to lie before them. "Did she say anything else?"

"No. She said she was busy-too busy to talk to me." Isabelle's voice wavered.

"Isabelle, you know Maryse is putting all the resources she has available to her into finding Alec."

"I know. But he was taken during a raid on Blackwell Companies, and you know the history with Blackwell kidnappings."

Jace's heart chilled at the numbers he recalled; of the twelve agents captured by Blackwell since its first emergence in the criminal world, only three had come back alive, if at all. "I know."

Isabelle sighed. "I just-I feel like we shouldn't be going off to Europe investigating Pangborn when we could be trying to save Alec."

"As soon as we're done here, if Alec hasn't come back yet, we'll find him." Jace put as much certainty as he could into the statement, although the anxiety that plagued him over Alec likely rivaled Isabelle's own.

"But your grandm-Special Agent Herondale. She won't let you go, especially if we succeed."

"I don't care what Imogen thinks. She can't control me, especially if she needs me." The hardness in his voice surprised Jace, but he met Isabelle's knowing gaze impassively.

"All right. So, let's get this over with, and then we'll find Alec." A smile crept over Isabelle's face, one of relief and hope.

Jace grinned back. "Right."

"Hopefully, Penhallow will have the information we need. And besides, you picked up this one, who's apparently a wealth of information," Isabelle said, skeptically.

"Trust me. She can help us."

"Well, I hope she does. And the sooner the better, because once we don't need her we can let her go."

Jace peeked at Clary and immediately cursed himself, knowing that Isabelle would read volumes out of it. Still, he couldn't meet her eyes as he replied, "Of course."

* * *

Clary was sore all over. She pressed her lips together to keep from whining as she trudged through the hotel lobby. Mouth in a petulant pout, she watched Isabelle glide gracefully across the glossy floor in her dangerously high heels. It just wasn't fair.

At the elevator, Jace jabbed his thumb into the up button and leaned against the wall, facing Clary. Isabelle's heel clicked incessantly against the glossy floor. "Let's just take the stairs."

Clary could have screamed, except she was pretty sure that wasn't appropriate hostage behavior. She was also sure that she would never make it up the stairs.

Against her better judgement, she was about to protest, but Jace cut in. "Izzy, come on. We're all tired. The elevator will be here soon, and I don't want to see my partner die as she falls down the stairs after having tripped in those death traps you call shoes."

Clary met his eyes for a second as he glanced toward her, and she feigned fascination with her feet.

Isabelle sighed daintily. "Fine. I'm too tired to argue with you about my shoes again, anyway."

The white triangle between the elevator doors lit up, accompanied with a chime, and a family of four spilled out of the doors in a tumble of brightly colored suitcases and clothing. Jace smoothly stepped simultaneously aside and in front of the bulky black suitcase he carried with him. Through her fatigue, Clary mustered a spark of curiosity, remembering the weight and odd shape of the bag.

A heavy silence settled over them in the elevator. Jace and Isabelle's familiar banter made no appearance, and Clary scuffed her shoe against the corner of the elevator to occupy herself. She rested her forehead on the cool metal of the elevator wall and let out a puff of air, her eyelids drooping.

In a daze of weariness, somehow she stumbled into the hotel room. A hand on her back steered her to a bed, on which she flopped face-first.

"This is the third time you've slept in 36 hours," Isabelle commented with mild interest.

Clary grumbled into the mattress, unable to muster the energy to reply.

She heard the two of them moving around the room, murmuring among themselves. Tired as she was, Clary's curiosity was dormant, and she shifted into a slightly more comfortable position on top of the sheets.

"At least take your shoes off," Jace griped, but he pulled off her ratty old sneakers before she could move. She made a mmph noise into the bed, thinking _thank you_.

"You're welcome," his voice muttered from her right.

Standing in front of the dark window, his face was shadowed so Clary couldn't read his expression.

"What are you looking at," she tried to say, but it was lost in the soft cushioning of her pillow.

"What? Sorry, I can't understand you," Jace said with a grin.

"Shut up," she mumbled. "Why are you doing this?"

"Teasing you? Because I can."

"No. This." She laboriously pulled her hand out from under her body and waved it around aimlessly. "Taking care of me. Letting me sleep all the time and stay with you guys. I must be a dead weight, but you're still carrying me around."

Jace's hesitation was clear in the stiff lines of his body, but he opened his mouth to respond regardless. "I have to."

"Why?"

This time, the pause was longer, and Clary squirmed as she fought to keep herself awake.

"It's like being a guardian, I suppose. You're not truly ours, but we have to take care of you."

"That doesn't answer my question," Clary protested and yawned. "Tell me tomorrow, I'm going to sleep again. For now, you can be my guardians as long as I get to sleep in a bed every night."

Jace laughed softly. "All right, Clary."

The ends of his hair tickled her cheek as the covers were pulled up over her, the last sensation she had before sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Revelation**

Europe was absolutely beautiful.

Clary didn't know what city she was in, or even what country, but the view from the balcony was enough to capture her attention completely.

A dignified ivory dome rose high above on the skyline, the steeple piercing the pure azure sky. The buildings shrinking away in her vision were worn at the edges, melting into the city like they truly belonged. She heard a shout in a language she thought might be Italian as a whiff of warm bread and cheese brushed against her face. Clary leaned against the black, wrought-iron railing as she craned her neck to see the source of the mouthwatering smell.

A hand jerked her back. "What are you doing?" Isabelle hissed.

"Trying to see where we are." Clary shrugged off the other girl's hand, frowning.

"Well, stop it. You won't be much use to us if you're dashed against the street after falling from this balcony, nor will we be able to stay if someone spots you and your bright red hair and decides to take an interest in us."

Clary's jaw dropped. "That's seriously the most you've ever said to me."

"The most I'll ever say to you. Get back inside." Isabelle stalked back into the room behind Clary, sliding the glass doors closed and snapping the thick curtains shut.

Clary blinked at the sudden dimness in the room. "Are we in Italy?"

"Maybe." Isabelle rummaged in her bags, back facing Clary.

Isabelle's tone was not encouraging, and Clary decided not to argue. She jumped backwards onto the bed, the mattress bobbing her up and down.

Isabelle was still bent over her suitcase. Clary kicked her heels against the sideboard and sighed.

She opened her mouth to ask where Jace was, but closed it as she realized that she probably wouldn't get an answer to that.

Clary sighed again and scooted backwards to lay her head against the pillow. Isabelle stood suddenly and spun in a slow circle to face the bed. She spared Clary an incredulous glance. "Sleeping again? Seriously?"

"I'm not sleeping," Clary defended herself. "I'm just bored."

Isabelle sighed, much more dramatically than Clary had. She crossed the room and Clary narrowed her eyes in annoyance.

Clattering noises ensued from the opposite side of the room. Clary had resigned herself to uncomfortable silence when Isabelle's clear, if slightly martyred, voice cut through the clamor. "What do you usually do when you're bored?"

Startled by the question, Clary took a moment to respond. "Um-draw, usually. But I don't have any paper."

A thin notepad landed next to her thigh a moment later. "There should be a pen on the nightstand," Isabelle said.

Clary stared at the other girl's back for a moment before clearing her throat. "Uh, thanks. But I shouldn't." Even as she spoke, her fingers twitched to take the pen, let the lines flow on instinct and form shapes on the page. But it was impossible.

Isabelle flipped her hair and pulled a dark, wrapped object out of the suitcase. "Suit yourself."

Jace slipped inside and grinned wickedly. "You know, if you tied your hair, it wouldn't get in your way. Or you could cut it. I'd help you-"

"Shut up, Jace. I will never trust you with scissors near my hair."

"Oh, come on, that was one time."

"And a year of embarrassment!"

"If you weren't so vain, you wouldn't have been embarrassed."

Isabelle stroked the gun in her hands menacingly with the cloth. Jace looked appropriately subdued.

Clary coughed lightly to get their attention. "So, what are we doing today?"

"Congratulations, Clary Fray, you get to go outside today!" Jace's smile wasn't all that reassuring.

"I'm assuming we're not just sightseeing."

"Nope."

"You'll see-" Isabelle began.

"When I get there, I know." Clary shoved her feet into her sneakers and stood. "Let's go, then."

* * *

Isabelle kept one eye on Clary, but it was more out of habit than an actual worry that Clary would run off. For some reason, the girl seemed content to relinquish some freedom for their-company? Protection? Isabelle couldn't be sure.

She understood a little better where Jace was coming from. There had been something in Clary's eyes just before Jace had walked in, a look that was out of place on such an innocent face. Haunted, Isabelle decided.

Not that she was one to talk. Isabelle knew only too well how to carry a burden. She'd leave Clary to her deep dark secrets and keep her own counsel.

At the moment, however, Clary was staring in complete awe at the crumbling structures of the tiny Italian city. Isabelle had a great appreciation for the culture of the place, of course, but she'd always been more at home in the materialistic, insouciant air of places like Las Vegas, or Paris, really. The last time she'd been to either of those places had been before this whole debacle, though. She didn't know how she would feel now, surrounded by the carefree while her own heart was heavy in her chest.

Jace tapped her lightly on the shoulder. "We're here."

"I'll handle Penhallow. You grab Clary and come in after I give the okay."

"Sounds like a plan, partner."

Isabelle felt a sense of things fitting into place when she put a hand on her waistband, where her gun rested comfortingly, and retorted, "Better than any of yours."

Jace gave her a dirty look before striding smoothly towards Clary and leaving her in the arch of the doorway.

Isabelle took a breath before knocking sharply on the wooden door. Penhallow's entryway was old-fashioned, unmarked, impersonal. No signs of a person living there, but plenty of an agent.

It was a long moment before footsteps thumped up behind the door. Through the sliver of space, a sharp nose poked through. "Who is it?"

"Isabelle Lightwood, Mr. Penhallow." Isabelle craned her neck slightly to catch a better glimpse of the man behind the door.

"Lightwood, huh," the man muttered. "Where are the rest of you?"

"They're coming. I just wanted to have a chat with you first." Isabelle smiled prettily, injecting a dose of menace in her manner.

The man hesitated. "Fine, then. Hurry up." Isabelle stepped through as the door swung open.

She followed the man through the dim hallway to a tiny but neat kitchen with a scarred wooden table in the center. Penhallow didn't bother with formalities, just leaned against the table and fixed her with steady eyes, startlingly blue in his weathered face.

"So, why are you here? Come to take me back to the SEP yet?" Penhallow smiled, but it was twisted and insincere.

"I'm looking for a shipment that passed through here last month," Isabelle replied shortly.

"Last month? A bit late, aren't you," Penhallow sneered.

"It's not your place to judge the missions that the SEP deems important," Isabelle chided. "However, it is your job to know everything that goes on in this city. Have you heard anything from your contacts? Surely the SEP informed you of our arrival."

"I'm no longer in contact with your mother, if that's what you're thinking. We've been...estranged for a while." Penhallow registered the surprise in Isabelle's expression with a smirk. "Has she been telling you stories of our families growing up together? Brothers in arms, who would do anything for one another?"

Isabelle pressed her lips together. "I could care less about your falling out with my parents. I need information. That's why I'm here. And if you can't give it to me, then I'll have to report back with the story that Patrick Penhallow has been slacking on the job."

Penhallow glared. "That's a lie."

"If you have the information, then, why don't you just tell me? I am not the one you want to pick a fight with."

"It's true. You are not your mother in the least," Penhallow said after a moment of contemplation.

Isabelle let that sink in as Penhallow levered himself to his feet and padded over to open a cabinet. He pulled out a thin manila folder and set it on the table. "Pictures, reports of suspicious activity at a storage center, unsavory characters carrying tarps into vans, etcetera."

Isabelle nodded gratefully, sliding the folder towards her with one hand as she pulled out her phone with the other. She texted Jace quickly and opened the folder, scanning the pages.

The doorbell rang a moment later. "My partner," Isabelle clarified without looking up. She heard Penhallow leave the room as she flipped a picture of two dark-clothed men lifting a crate into the back of a black SUV. One of the sleeves of the men was bunched at the elbow, revealing a wrist etched with dark lines.

Jace's voice filtered through, saying something snarky, to which Penhallow did not reply.

Isabelle took her eyes off the file as the others came in. Jace looked pleased with himself, but no one was paying attention to him. Isabelle noted silently that Penhallow was scrutinizing Clary closely. Not in a creepy way, though Clary looked uncomfortable and fidgeted by the corner of the table. More like he was trying to remember something.

Jace appeared next to her shoulder and poked at the file. "Anything interesting?"

"Similar to what we've seen before," Isabelle muttered back. She opened the file again and tapped one picture. "Look familiar to you?"

"Same tattoo on the wrists. So, either the same person or at least on the same team. Against us." Jace grimaced.

"Where was the van going?" Isabelle asked Penhallow, startling him into looking at her.

"It was spotted on the security cameras of a bakery near the outskirts of Rome." Penhallow slid another photograph out of the bottom of the pile.

"That's ten miles south of here." Jace squinted at the corner of the photo. "Timestamp says twenty-three minutes after three in the morning.."

"This one says ten fifty-two." Isabelle twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "Four hours to drive ten miles? You'd think they wanted to get out of there fast, if the cargo was so important."

"And it obviously was, since they killed for it," Jace commented. "So what were they doing in the wee hours of the morning with a van full of essential equipment?"

Penhallow had returned to staring at Clary, who cast anxious glances their way.

"This is not the moment where you suggest that we drive down Italy in the dark looking for random houses on the side of the road," Isabelle said, just to nip any ideas in the bud.

"I was kidding that one time. You will never let anything go, will you?" Jace hissed.

"Not until one of your plans doesn't end up with us having a near-death experience."

"Maybe they crashed their car?" Clary offered, unhelpfully.

"Yes, that's an excellent explanation for why their car looks completely intact in the second picture," Jace said with wide eyes.

"Shut up, they could've changed cars. Or, like, stopped for gas?"

"For four hours."

Clary's glare was rather impressive. Isabelle punched Jace's shoulder, lightly, but he pouted anyway. "Well, they must have done something. Do you think they made contact with whoever sent them?"

"Maybe. Or-" Jace hesitated, hand flat on the photos. "Could they have dropped off the cargo?"

"You think?" Isabelle worried her lip.

Penhallow had begun rummaging in the cabinets while they were talking, and now he emerged with another file. "Where is it, come on, it's in here somewhere," he grumbled.

With a dramatic swooshing noise, Penhallow pulled out a sheet of paper. "Disturbance on the side of the road, midnight on September third. Farmer reported two figures running out of his fields after he chased them away with a scythe."

"So? It could've been two teenagers fulfilling a tryst."

"Did you just say tryst?" Clary asked with a twitch of her lips.

"Yes, I did," Jace started, but Penhallow spoke over him.

"That's not all. The farmer only reported it because the next morning, he found a trail of crushed plants, like something had been dragged through."

"Something like a crate?"

"That's what I thought at first. But the police report says that the tracks actually resemble a body being dragged."

"But they were running out? Just the two of them?" Isabelle questioned Penhallow.

"Apparently so."

"They killed someone in the field, were in the middle of disposing of the body when they were caught, ran away, then came back and finished the job," Isabelle summarized, but Jace shook his head.

"No, the drag marks only extend for a short distance in the middle of the field." He traced the photo in the police report with his index finger.

"So, what, the body got up and ran away too?"

"I don't know." Jace flipped through the pages briskly. "Here, there's another statement. The son thinks he saw a third person, before his father chased them away. And the family thinks they heard a car come back a few hours later."

"They think." But Isabelle was already creating the scenario in her head. "So there was a third person, who for some reason dropped in the middle of the field, and the two dragged this person up until they had to abandon him and come back for the guy later?"

"I guess?" Jace was frowning at the pages. "But why-"

"Maybe they used whatever's in those crates to drug the guy, or something?" Clary interrupted. When the other three turned to look at her, she crossed her arms. "I'm just saying. It's totally possible!"

"Better than your last explanation, but still a little far-fetched." Jace's frown was letting up a little. "Shall we go there and investigate?"

"Do you think it's worth it?"

"It's the only lead we have as to what's in those crates."

"We're not supposed to know what's in them, we're just supposed to find out where they are now," Isabelle reminded Jace.

"Well, they're not here. Besides, I'm curious." Jace's tone was decided, but Isabelle thought she could still put up a little fight before she resigned herself to another of his insane ideas.

"It'll only slow us down more than we have already," Isabelle countered, glancing involuntarily at Clary. "Remember-"

"I know, last chance and all that, but, really, Izzy, how can this hurt?" Jace wheedled. "It'll be fun. And unharmful. Please?"

Isabelle threw her arms up. "Fine, then. Let's go sightseeing."

* * *

Jace grinned as he snatched up the file folder and followed Isabelle and Clary out the door. He bumped his knuckles against Isabelle's back when Penhallow's hand darted out and grabbed Isabelle's elbow. "There's something else," he said in a low whisper, eyes darting between the door where Clary was standing and Jace's raised eyebrows.

"Yes?" Jace said impatiently. Penhallow's silent twitchiness was getting on his nerves.

Penhallow seemed to think hard for a moment before deciding, "Only for your ears, Lightwood."

Isabelle's shoulders tensed visibly, and Jace thought immediately, Alec.

"Come on, Clary." Jace pushed past Isabelle and stomped into the sunlight, though he was dying to hear news. Feeling Clary's presence at his side, he turned back to watch Isabelle and Penhallow, wanting to gauge Isabelle's expressions for bad news or good news. But Izzy's face was in the shadows, the sunlight hitting the back of Penhallow's graying head.

Clary was restless, Jace sensed without looking back. In his peripheral vision, he could see her biting her thumb and twisting a strand of hair around her fingers simultaneously. His hand reached out before he could stop it, pulling her hands away from her face.

When he dragged his gaze away from Isabelle and Penhallow, he noticed the nervously quick motion of her own gaze turning away from the others' conversation.

"What's wrong?" Jace asked, quashing the uncertain feeling in his chest that was asking him why he cared so much.

Clary's mouth worked, as if she was trying to think of something to say. "Uh. Nothing. I just-I mean-I was curious. Why was Penhallow looking at me like that?" She bit her lip.

Jace was drawn to the whiteness of her lip under her teeth. "He probably hasn't seen someone with hair like yours in years. He's been cooped up here in Italy for as long as I can remember," Jace joked, trying to ease the tight feeling that bloomed from his chest.

Clary didn't laugh, but she did tug her hair a little self-consciously and release her lip. "Really? Why?"

"A long, dramatic story that nobody talks about," he said honestly.

Her eyes went round with curiosity. "Oh."

Jace was thinking of a way to tell Clary the story when Isabelle stepped away from Penhallow and walked towards them. His stomach clenched as he took in her expression.

"Izzy," he murmured as she passed, but she shook her head and held up a hand, signaling "not now."

Clary's wide green eyes questioned him as they walked down the narrow street in single file, but Jace looked away and glared at a tree in the distance. He deserved to know whatever Penhallow had said about Alec, too. They were practically brothers. Isabelle had no right, she knew how much Jace cared about him.

Jace's petulance lasted as Isabelle unlocked the hotel room. The three of them stood by the door as it swung closed silently.

Clary glanced between them. "I'm going to go to the bathroom now. And I'm not going to come out until you two stop making awkward eye contact."

Jace crossed his arms as Clary's fiery hair disappeared behind the bathroom door. He saw Isabelle mirroring his posture and frowned.

"What's wrong with you?" Isabelle asked irritatedly.

"Are you going to tell me what Penhallow said?" Jace ignored her.

"Yes, of course. I couldn't tell you earlier-"

"Why not? I'm just as worried about Alec as you, don't you think I deserve to know as soon as possible, too?"

Isabelle's frown at Jace's tone cleared. "It wasn't about Alec," she said in a hushed voice.

His voice caught in his throat. "What?"

"Penhallow didn't have anything to say about Alec," Isabelle told him in the same hoarse whisper.

Jace felt stupid, relieved, and unhappy all at the same time. "Then what's wrong?"

Isabelle hesitated and motioned for him to move away from the bathroom. He complied, noting his partner's wary look.

"It's Clary," Isabelle whispered.

Jace swallowed. "What about her?" He lowered his voice as well.

"Penhallow recognized her. A few days ago, some suits were going around town asking about a short redhead with green eyes. They showed a picture. Penhallow's men reported the suspicious activity, but no one had any answers."

"A few days..." Jace trailed off. "We picked her up in New York a few days ago. Why would anyone be looking for here?"

"I don't know. But I know she's not as ordinary as she seems." Isabelle twisted her fingers together. "I think you're right. I think she knows something, or she's important somehow."

"Important to us?"

"Important to someone who might be important to us." Isabelle met his gaze. "I don't know if she really has anything to do with what we're involved in, but the men looking for her had tattoos on their wrists."

Jace grew cold. "The men from the van. The same, or-"

"No, I think they're different people. But working for the same man." Isabelle took the file from Jace and flipped to the photo of the men lifting the crate. "It's blurry, but can you see? I think they're two letters, but it's hard to read since they're-"

"Intertwined," Jace supplied. He squinted at the photo. "Is that a V? Or an M?"

"I think it's both," Isabelle said, tilting her head to scrutinize the image with him.

"It's nice handiwork," Jace mused. "Very intricate."

"Since when are you a tattoo expert?" Isabelle scoffed lightly.

"Since never, but I'm still qualified to tell you that this tattoo was on Pangborn's man in the warehouse in New York."

"Where we found Clary."

"I knew she was hiding something when we asked her if she knew anything about Pangborn," Jace muttered.

"So, what's the plan? Should we confront her about it?" Isabelle hissed.

"Are you done discussing secret things now?" Clary's voice filtered through the bathroom door.

Jace and Isabelle's eyes met, and Jace ran through what they should do in his head, knowing that Isabelle was doing the same.

"Not now, but soon," he concluded softly.

Isabelle nodded.

The bathroom door cracked open and Clary emerged, assessing the tension in the room.

"So," Clary began.

At Jace's imperceptible shake of the head, Isabelle took Clary by the elbow and steered her outside. "Into the car. We're going for a drive."

"Fun," Clary said blandly.

"Cut the attitude," Isabelle ordered curtly. Jace closed his eyes, trying to relax in preparation for the day. When he opened them again, Clary was looking at him with a strange expression on her face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Confession**

Twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence later, Isabelle escorted Clary out of the car and fixed her with a glare. "Don't say a word until I say it's okay."

"Okay," Clary agreed. "So are you just going to go in and flash your fancy agent status at them and force them to cooperate?"

"Well, they'll take a little convincing," Isabelle admitted. "People don't exactly expect us, so 'flashing our fancy agent status' doesn't work as well as you might expect."

"Yeah, you guys don't really look like secret agents," Clary informed her. "You're too young."

Isabelle snorted. "Says you. What are you, twelve?"

"Hey, I'm not that short."

"Say that again when you're not pouting like a five year old." Isabelle turned up her nose.

Jace emerged from the car and stalked up to them. "Let's go," he said curtly, eyes avoiding Clary.

Clary scowled at Jace's back as they walked past the waving stalks of the fields. The scene was calm, pastoral. The sudden break in soft-looking leaves caught her by surprise.

"Is that where it happened?" Clary asked.

"Looks like it," Isabelle replied laconically.

The house came into view, a weathered structure that looked ready to collapse at any moment. Clary thought it looked homey, though, with a tiny curl of smoke from the chimney.

She put her foot on the work wood of the porch as Jace rapped sharply on the simple wooden door. It creaked sharply as her weight settled.

The door swung open and a man stepped into the gap. "Si? Che-"

"Signore," Jace cut in smoothly. Clary watched the sun glinting off of his hair as Jace launched into a stream of lilting syllables, the leathered brown face of the other man wrinkling between his bushy eyebrows.

"No," the man began, gesturing erratically with his hands.

Halfway through his speech, Isabelle cut in.

"Per favore." Clary watched the amazing phenomenon of Isabelle's pleading expression smoothing the wrinkles on the farmer's face.

"Bene." He shut the door behind him and strode off toward the fields.

They trailed after him in a ragged line, Clary bringing up the rear. The man brought them up short at an uneven path of trampled and broken stalks. His mouth set as he viewed the destruction, the farmer swept his hand out.

"Grazie," Isabelle murmured. She and Jace stepped forward in tandem, the almost-telepathy between them apparent.

Neither of them seemed to be doing much but looking. Clary waited and resisted the urge to fidget.

Something glimmered in the corner of her eye. A single step took her close enough to see the object-it was cylindrical, glass, with a metal needle at the end.

Clary froze.

* * *

Jace heard it just as Isabelle did, the partners turning their heads simultaneously at the sudden absence of white noise that came from Clary's inability to stay still.

"Clary?" Isabelle spoke when he didn't, filling in the silence with the necessary questions. "Did you find something?"

When Clary turned, she looked stricken, face white with a foreground of darker freckles. When she opened her mouth, there was no sound.

Jace was at her side in the next moment, grabbing her shoulders before he realized exactly what he was doing. "Are you okay? Say something."

Clary's eyes were unfocused, staring blankly at a point above Jace's shoulder. He shook her a little. "Hey!"

Behind him, Isabelle knelt among the broken stalks. "Jace."

He registered the syringe, its metal tip sparkling.

"It's empty," Isabelle confirmed before he could speak. Jace nodded. The sun beat on his back, unseasonably warm. Clary's pale skin under the sunlight was translucent, fragile looking. Abruptly realizing that bruises would probably form, he loosened his grip.

Clary blinked and stiffened under Jace's hands.

"Let go of me," she told him irritably.

Jace crossed his arms over his chest. "So what was that?"

"What was what?" Clary retorted, but her tone was flat.

"You. Zoning out like that."

"It was nothing." Clary crossed her arms to mirror him. "I guess I'm afraid of needles, or something."

"Is that all?" Jace could hear his sharp tone, but he couldn't control it.

"What else would there be?" Her face was the picture of confusion, marred only by a slight tremble at the corner of her mouth.

Isabelle interrupted, holding up the syringe. "Do you recognize this at all?"

"Should I?" Clary's toe scuffed at a rock protruding from the ground.

"Just answer the question," Jace instructed curtly.

"No, I don't."

Jace knew she was lying, could tell from the too-stubborn set of her chin. He communicated this to Isabelle with an inconspicuous twist of the mouth.

Izzy continued, "Do you know what might have been in the syringe?"

"No-God, what's with the inquisition?"Clary uncrossed her arms and let her hands flail wildly as she spoke. "I know as little about what's going on as you do."

"I doubt that," Jace scoffed, but Isabelle cut him off.

"Let's not do this here," she said, voice measured. She smiled stiffly at the farmer, who was observing the scene with bewilderment.

Jace was still standing close enough to shoot a hand out and capture Clary's elbow when she moved away. He glowered at the top of her head when she shook it off and stomped away.

He cursed and marched after her. The farmer was trudging back to his tiny house in the other direction; Isabelle must have concocted an acceptable story.

Jace looked down to see Isabelle's short, unpainted nails resting on his forearm. He remembered when he and Alec had teased Isabelle for having such pretty, girly hands when they were twelve, the summer before they began training.

"Calm down," Isabelle told him. Jace looked into her eyes and wondered how the carefree girl of his memories could live to become the implacable almost-spy in front of him, how someone could have changed so much.

Well, he knew how. But it was still hard to accept, hard to keep away a tinge of regret.

Isabelle's eyebrow had crept up her forehead. "You alive in there?" she said, but the smile that accompanied the words was a front, and the words were emotionless.

"I've been better," Jace answered honestly.

* * *

Clary rubbed her arms compulsively and shuffled in front of Isabelle through the door of their room. She sat down on the bed and swung her legs over to face the window, away from Isabelle and Jace.

Jace scowled. Isabelle shook her head and sighed inwardly. She crossed the room and tapped Clary on the shoulder. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to say." Clary studied the window with great concentration.

"I think there's plenty to talk about." Jace materialized at Isabelle's side.

"For the last time, I can't tell you anything you want to hear." Now Clary was examining her fingers, fretting at the ragged nails.

"Can't, or won't?" Isabelle suggested softly.

Clary's head swiveled slowly, and Isabelle perceived the glimmer in her green eyes.

"Clary." And then Jace was sitting next to Clary on the bed, arm hovering over her shoulders. "No one's going to hurt you. We wouldn't, and we won't let anyone else either."

"How do I know that?" Her voice wavered, throat working as she swallowed.

Isabelle felt uncharacteristically awkward standing there and watching their backs, Jace's shoulders pressed up against Clary's, heads only inches apart.

"You're just going to have to trust us."

Now they were looking into each other's eyes, and it was like a scene out of a sickeningly romantic movie. Isabelle thought, a little disgruntled, that she could be doing the cancan at that moment and they wouldn't have noticed.

The silence in the room settled heavily on Isabelle's ears, and her blood seemed to be pounding as loud as a drumbeat. She almost didn't hear Clary's whisper over the crashing pulse.

But when she tuned in it was to hear Clary say, "I know what happened in that field."

"How-" Jace began, but Clary held up a hand.

"Let me finish. It was the syringe that clinched it, really, but I knew from the pictures before. Those men with the tattoos on their wrists were at the field, and at the warehouse where you found me. They're extremely dangerous. And what's in those crates is dangerous, and important to them too. You were mostly right about what happened at the field. They would send two men, each with one of the syringes, and once they were close enough to the transport, one of the men would have injected their captive-the one they were dragging through the field. If it didn't take effect, the second one would try. Any more would be life-threatening. Then the three would make it to the transport and the shipment would all be sent back to the base." Clary was eerily still as she delivered this speech, and Jace and Isabelle were equally mesmerized.

"Where's the base? What shipment? What's in the syringes-and in the crates? Who are these people?" Jace asked, and Clary blinked at the onslaught.

"Um-"

Isabelle cut in. "Wait a moment. How do you know all of this?"

"Because it's happened before. This happens every month, sometimes more. The shipment comes back-always twenty crates, a few extra items, and at most two people. Never more, it would cause too much suspicion." Clary turned to Jace. "And I can't tell you any more."

"Clary," Jace protested.

"I just can't, okay?" Clary stood unexpectedly and walked away from Jace, towards the other corner of the small room.

"So where does this information take us? How are we supposed to use it if you won't tell us anything else?" Isabelle felt for Clary; she knew how to carry around a burden that would be rude to dump on just anyone, but they needed this information. Not to mention, Isabelle was mildly curious.

Clary hesitated. "You have to understand something. Those men are most likely following me-and no, I'm not going to tell you why," she added as Jace opened his mouth.

"We can handle them," Isabelle assured her.

Clary raised an eyebrow, but she shrugged. "Fine. All the shipments go back to Nevada."

"But that's where we started," Jace objected.

Isabelle couldn't help the wry laugh that escaped. "I guess it was a wild goose chase, after all."

"Izzy," Jace warned.

"No, no. It's not like Imogen could possibly have thought of this plan, is it? Your grandmother would never send us away just so she could-I don't know, maybe cancel the search for Alec when we weren't there to object?"

"Special Agent Herondale may be harsh, but she is never unfair," Jace retorted.

"How can you say that? After what she did to your parents-"

"How can you say this, after what she's done for us? She gave us a second chance, Izzy. What more could you want?"

"I want someone to tell me what's going on. Have you heard anything about Alec since Mom's phone call? He's my brother-"

"Our brother," Jace corrected angrily.

"And we deserve to know if he's dead," Isabelle finished on a shout.

The room was painfully quiet as Jace and Clary gaped at her. Isabelle didn't know what to do with her hands, or where to look, so she clasped them behind her back and stared at her feet.

"Isabelle." Jace's voice was gentle, and much nearer than before.

"Don't say he's not, because you don't know that," Isabelle.

"I don't. But I do know that you don't want him to be dead any more than you want us to fail right now."

"We won't fail," Isabelle asserted. "But we could have succeeded more quickly."

"We can always succeed more quickly," Jace pointed out with a hint of a laugh.

Isabelle shrugged, conceding his point.

Jace stood from where he was crouching next to Isabelle. "So let's go to Nevada."

* * *

_A/N: Hey guys, sorry about the update lag-real life got in the way. I just wanted to say thanks to all who've reviewed, because that's the best motivation someone can have. Also, I apologize for not replying individually-again, RL is kind of a bruiser. This won't be too long of a story-it'll wrap up around the end of August at least. Thank you for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Vulnerability**

They packed up and left in a hurry, making it to the airport even before the pilot called back to confirm that their flight was ready. Jace moved restlessly through the cavernous space of the airport, unable to sink into the sense of calm he usually felt near the end of a mission.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Everything about this assignment was off; discomfort was to be expected.

To his left, Clary pulled the small black luggage case of clothes, mostly Isabelle's. She'd insisted on helping somehow, but Isabelle and Jace had both put their feet down at her handling the weapons. The constant rumble of the rolling case lulled him into a limbo between keeping track of his companions and thinking privately.

He hadn't missed all of the signs; Alec's disappearance had wrecked the Lightwood family almost beyond repair, and Isabelle hadn't escaped the fallout. But she'd been so focused since the meeting with the Cobra, Jace had come to assume that, if not healed, she was mending.

It wasn't healing, Jace realized. It was shoving all the Alec worry under a thin rug with a gaping hole in the center through which one could see everything trying to hide.

Isabelle was always on top of her game, though. The two of them were a good team, could be the best, except the best only happened when they were a trio and not a pair.

"To your right and back," Isabelle whispered abruptly.

It was times like these that Jace appreciated just how much he needed Isabelle, though he hadn't needed as much dragging out of his own head before. He knew not to look, but when they turned a corner he stuck his foot in front of Clary's suitcase, yanking it from her grip.

"Sorry," he told her as it clattered to the floor. "I got it." She eyed him curiously as he walked back around the corner to where it had rolled and crouched to grasp the handle. As he stood, Jace let his eyes skim the edges of the hall. They caught on a man who was waiting stiffly by the water fountain as another man drank, a black hat obscuring the side of his face.

"How thirsty do you think those men actually are?" Jace dropped casually to Isabelle when he returned.

"I'm sure they're parched," Isabelle returned dryly.

"Did you see a tattoo?"

Isabelle shook her head. "You?"

"No." But really, he thought, what were the chances? "We'll be careful, anyway," Jace assured.

"Of course."

Jace saw them again as they were passing the food kiosks closer to the exit onto the tarmac. This time, he tapped Clary lightly on the back of her hand. "Don't look right away. Do you recognize either of those men?"

Clary waited a beat before kneeling to tie her shoe and looking over. Jace felt a wash of approval, which was surmounted by apprehension as Clary's eyes closed and she stood slowly.

"Jeremy Pontmercy-the one with the hat. The other one is Wiley Blackwell."

"Blackwell?" Isabelle said sharply.

"He's the youngest son of the head of Blackwell Companies," Clary explained.

"Does that mean-are they planning on kidnapping you?" Jace asked, throat tight.

Clary contemplated her shoelaces. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably."

"Wait, Clary, do you know anything more about Blackwell Companies?" Jace's fingers tightened around the handle of the luggage case as he watched Isabelle form the words, desperation spilling through alongside them.

"I don't-" Clary began, jaw set stubbornly.

"This is important," Isabelle stressed, and Clary must have sensed something, because she scratched the back of her neck and started over.

"Blackwell Companies are ostensibly a private shipping and handling division of the larger Morgenstern Corporation, and they're the sister sector of Pangborn Industries. But really, they ship more than luxury items and foodstuffs on occasion."

"Sometimes it's people," Jace finished for her.

"Yeah." Clary shot a look at Isabelle, whose dark eyes were trained on Clary. "Actually, Isabelle-"

A scream pierced the air, then the yell of "Gun! He's got a gun!" followed on its heels.

Jace swung around to see that Pontmercy was brandishing his weapon with a steely expression, making his way inexorably towards them. He swore when he saw that Blackwell wasn't next to him, he was coming around from the other direction.

"Izzy, let's go!" He pushed Clary in front of him and told her, "Run for the exit, I'll be right behind you!"

Jace pulled his gun from his waistband and took a shot at Pontmercy. The man dove for the floor, the bullet ricocheting off the metal of the door frame behind him. He couldn't see Isabelle, but another shot rang out close by.

Pontmercy was still coming at him, and he was close enough now that Jace could make out the lines on his wrist. Anger and adrenaline surged through him, and he threw himself at the bigger man, knocking him to the floor. Pontmercy's gun skittered away on the hard floor, and he hissed.

Jace delivered a punch to the nose that Pontmercy was too slow to deflect, and the other man's head hit the unforgiving floor with a loud crack. When Jace was sure that he wouldn't get up again, he stood and grabbed Pontmercy's gun, turning around to face the chaos behind him.

People were running and screaming in random directions across the airport, security trying unsuccessfully to return the place to a semblance of order. Some men in flak jackets were running around the corner, but Jace ignored them in favor of looking frantically for a ripple of dark hair, the flash of Isabelle's smaller gun. Where was she?

"Jace!"

He swiveled quickly to his right. Isabelle was holding back Blackwell with her gun raised with outstretched arms. She spoke without looking away from the man. "Jace, take Clary and go!"

"What?" Jace instantly rebelled at the statement. "No, I'm not leaving you here."

"Just go! I'll be fine!"

"Izzy, I can't, not again," Jace called, not caring who heard anymore, he just couldn't leave his partner behind again after all they'd been through. After what had happened last time.

"I promise you, I will meet you there." Isabelle met his eyes briefly, a moment where Jace was ready to scream at her to not let her guard down, Blackwell had a gun pointed at her forehead, for God's sake. "Jace, take care of her, okay?"

"I will," Jace replied automatically, already backing towards the exit. "You better keep your goddamn promise, Izzy."

"I always do," he heard her say as he turned and ran, slipping through the door and rushing down the flight of stairs.

Clary was waiting for him on the tarmac, jiggling her knee in front of the plane. "Where's Isabelle?"

"Get inside," Jace ordered, a little breathless as he ran towards her. They scrambled up the stairs and into the small aircraft, Jace throwing the luggage inside when it slowed them down. Jace kicked away the portable stairs forcefully and rapped on the cockpit window.

"Let's get out of here," he shouted. The pilot nodded shortly; Jace recognized him as a regular for the SEP, and was thankful that he could take orders and ignore whatever signals traffic control were sending him at the moment.

"Jace," Clary said, stumbling against a seat as the plane lurched forward. "Where's Isabelle?"

"Inside." The word tugged at Jace, berating him for leaving her behind.

"But-"

"She'll meet us in Nevada as soon as she can." Jace forced himself to look Clary in the eye. "She will," he repeated to himself, and he didn't know if it was a reassurance or a lie.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Jace, stop it," Clary finally snapped as Jace paced by for the umpteenth time.

"Screw you," Jace retorted automatically, but he flopped in the seat next to her and heaved a huge sigh.

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence for about a minute before Clary couldn't handle it anymore. "Jace, what happened back there?"

"You tell me, Clary. Those men were following you, weren't they? How do you know them?"

"Don't deflect the question. What happened to Isabelle?"

"God, Clary," Jace sighed, but his tone was shockingly indulgent. "You really are the stubbornest person I know."

Clary didn't quite know how to respond to that, but Jace saved her from replying.

"Blackwell was holding a gun on her. There wasn't time, any longer and the plane wouldn't be allowed to leave. Isabelle can take care of herself, and the cavalry is probably coming any time now."

"I'm sorry," Clary said.

"It's not your fault."

"It is, though. Blackwell and Pontmercy weren't there for you."

"We never expected to make it through without any sort of confrontation, Clary. Granted, we didn't exactly plan on being separated, but it's nothing we can't handle. I am capable of intelligent plans, you know."

Clary opened her mouth to say something, she didn't know what, but she blurted, "Valentine Morgenstern wants me back."

This elicited an impressive response from Jace, who jerked upright in his chair and stared at her. "Who?"

"Valentine Morgenstern, head of Morgenstern Corporation. He wants me back. That's why he's sending Blackwell and Pontmercy after me. It's not a random kidnapping-not that it ever is, but this time is special."

"Explain," Jace said briefly.

"He uses people for experiments. Every month, a shipment comes in with crates of those syringes, special instruments, other supplies, and people. Pangborn handles the materials, Blackwell the human traffic. And Valentine uses all this to change people, make them more than they were. He conducts tests to see how fast you can run, how far you can see, how quickly you can think, and then he augments your greatest attribute."

"So all those people Blackwell Companies take-they're taken for experimentation?" Jace looked stricken.

"Generally, yes."

"Oh, God." Jace tugged at a lock of his hair. "Clary, have you ever seen the transports yourself?"

"Yes, sometimes," Clary said. When she was allowed out of the room, she and Simon would sit by the window and watch as the cargo was unloaded methodically, with usually two jittery human beings manhandled inside as well.

"Someone-he would have been tall, taller than me, with dark hair and blue eyes." Jace listed the attributes, tremors in his hands. "A month, month and a half ago."

Clary's first instinct was to ask who, but she tamped it down, instead trying to think back. "There was one transport that was larger than most-just people, special delivery from Blackwell four weeks ago. For some reason, they were different," or so Simon had said, pointing out the relative fitness of the men and women compared to the average import. "Stronger."

"Alec was trained by the SEP, like us," Jace confirmed.

"Then, maybe."

Jace nodded, eyes fierce.

"I'm sorry," Clary told him. "Was he a friend?"

"He was our-uh, Isabelle's brother. Our partner."

Her brother, God, Clary thought. "Was he kidnapped?"

"Two months ago, on a mission. The bad guy got away, took Alec with him."

Clary couldn't find the words to form a reply.

"Does it work?" Jace asked.

"What?"

"Valentine's experiments. Do they work? I mean, are your greatest attributes augmented?"

"For the most part, no. He concocts different drugs every month or so when the last one fails, which is why he needs a continuous supply of new subjects."

"What happens to the people that it doesn't work on?"

"I don't know," Clary admitted. "They disappear from their rooms and are replaced by the most recent batch."

"Do you think Alec-" Jace didn't finish his sentence, but Clary got the gist.

"No, you said a month and a half? Valentine's been having a little trouble with the latest one, as far as I know. It won't have been ready yet."

Jace nodded, though he looked a little suspicious. Clary forgot to be worried when Jace posed his next question.

"How do you fit into this, Clary?"

"The short story is that I'm his biggest experiment." She pushed up the sleeve of her hoodie and showed Jace the red puncture marks down her forearm. Jace's hand darted out, but hovered millimeters from her skin.

"Jesus, Clary." His voice was soft, almost reverent. "How long has he-I mean, when did he start with you?"

"It's been years. I don't really remember anything else." Just the sterile scent of the white room, the scared faces of the other kids.

"Did it work with you?" Jace asked, excitement seeping into his tone.

"To tell the truth, I'm not sure. Valentine hasn't shared his results with me." She thought of the nightmares that the drug triggered, Valentine ordering her to draw what she saw, thinking that some message would come from the disturbing images that plagued her brain each night.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to talk about it," Jace backed off, pulling his hands back towards his chest.

"No, it's okay, I want to," Clary reassured him, and it was the truth. After years of not having to talk about it, she wanted someone else, who didn't already understand, to know.

"I was part of the first batch-we were all kids. He thought-and he might have been right-that the effects would be stronger when we were younger. We are his longest trial; he has used the same drug on us for years, thinking that the effects would manifest themselves slowly. But in truth, it was too difficult to test; all of us could see that there is no measure for ability, since there was no average. But he is a madman; he would not give up, and to this day he believes that one or more of us are already successes, and the others will become so.

"He kept us in one room, where we ate and slept and spent our day waiting for someone to come in and take another one of us away. More than anything, it was boring," she admitted with a laugh. "I had this fat sketchbook of the drawings I did over the years. We could ask for things, too; I had tons of art supplies, Simon had a guitar, there was a library of sorts after a while."

When Jace looked like he was going to interject, Clary shook her head. "If you're thinking that Valentine wasn't completely a pitiless monster, you're wrong. I had to fight for those privileges, and it didn't change the fact that we couldn't leave, couldn't contact our family, had no life outside of tests and sterile rooms and loneliness. Fine, it's not exactly heavy torture, but it was oppression."

Now Jace was staring at her, eyebrow cocked. Clary let out a huffy laugh. "So maybe I've got some pent up feelings about that."

Jace's mouth quirked. "I get it. Well, I've never actually felt like that, but I understand why you would feel that way, I guess." He frowned. "I mean-uh-I'm not trying to be condescending, I was going more for sympathetic?" Jace tried finally, floundering.

Clary grinned. "Don't worry about it. It's my fault for complaining, I shouldn't be burdening other people with my insane baggage."

"No!" Jace blurted. "No, it's okay. You shouldn't feel obliged to keep this secret, you should be telling people. Valentine Morgenstern can't get away with keeping children locked up for their entire childhood." He was flustered, hands waving. "I mean, look at you."

"Look at me, what?" Clary said defensively.

"You've never seen an airport, been on a plane, eaten pretzels. You didn't even know what 9/11 was. You were cut off from the world, but now you're out here, and I can't imagine what would have happened if we weren't here to take care of you. I can't imagine how you could have survived."

"Just cause I'm different?" Clary bristled. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Can you, really?" Jace tilted his head at her.

"Yes, I can. And really, it's not like you had a normal childhood either." Clary felt sick with anger; somehow his generalization of her entire life had struck a nerve and she wanted to take him down. "I mean, what do agents do when they grow up? How can you be so nonchalant about killing? So, I was stuck in a room without a T.V., but what were you doing? Playing with guns, throwing knives?"

"It actually isn't that simple," Jace said, crossing his arms. He was closed off now, and Clary was so disappointed that she lashed out.

"Yeah, well, neither was my life, so don't you dare think that I'm weak because of my past," Clary declared.

"Well, don't make assumptions about my life, then," Jace countered.

"Fine!" Clary slumped back against the seat.

Jace breathed deeply through his nose three times before turning his upper body away from Clary to gaze out the window. She stared at his back, that sick feeling still there in the pit of her stomach, and closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see him anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Separation**

Blackwell laughed, a cruel, drawn-out sound accompanied by not a bit of amusement. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, girl."

Isabelle kept her hands steady on the gun, fixing Blackwell in her vision. "I don't."

"So self-sacrificing. It's unnatural to see in someone as young as you," Blackwell commented, raking his eyes over her form. "I wonder. These things come out of a sense of one's own inadequacy. It would make sense, wouldn't it," he smirked. "Considering what happened to your brother."

Isabelle's blood felt like ice, running sluggishly through her veins. "You know about that?"

"Darling," Blackwell rolled the endearment over his tongue with a sinister expression. "I am my father's son, or so everyone tells me. There's not much I don't know about."

"Why are you here?" Isabelle's palms were sweating, but she wasn't about to let go now. Hatred curled inside her; she would kill him.

"Not for you, we already have one Lightwood," Blackwell reminded her unnecessarily. "Special order from the top. One short, red-headed teenage girl to go, as soon as possible."

"Well, you've lost her, haven't you?" Isabelle pointed out.

"It doesn't matter. They're going exactly where we want them to go, no matter what you do."

"Where, exactly, is that, may I ask?" Isabelle said sweetly.

"Sorry," Blackwell smiled maliciously. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

Isabelle didn't respond. She really hoped the cavalry would get here soon, since she had no opening, no way to take Blackwell down without getting herself killed in the process. And she had promised, after all.

It was a sad thing, Isabelle reflected, when you couldn't trust your own mother to protect you.

"Waiting for your little friends?" Blackwell mocked. Isabelle rolled her eyes internally.

"Do you ever shut up?" she asked casually.

"No. It's a gift. I know exactly how to get under your skin, and I won't stop until I'm successful."

"Good thing I have a thick skin, then."

Blackwell chuckled. "Matching me word for word. I like you."

That could not have been creepier, Isabelle almost said to Jace. But Jace wasn't beside her anymore; she'd sent him off to protect their new asset.

"Sorry, I can't say the same for you," Isabelle said, mock-regretfully. "But I'd like you better if you just put the gun down."

"I suppose you did have to try, didn't you," Blackwell sighed. "But you're smart enough to know that that's not going to happen."

"She is very intelligent, you know," Maryse Lightwood agreed from behind Blackwell. "That being said, I really can't imagine how she got into this situation."

"Maryse." Blackwell's smile was strained. "How delightful to finally meet you. I've heard so much."

"I've heard less. But that doesn't change the fact that you'd better put that gun down."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll shoot you." Isabelle could almost hear the "obviously" that hung unspoken in the air. She smiled slightly.

Blackwell's expression remained cordial as he swiveled to face Maryse.

"What are you doing?" Maryse said, a tinge of confusion in her demeanor.

"I thought it would be best that your daughter didn't watch," Blackwell explained politely, before swiftly bringing his gun to his head and pulling the trigger.

Isabelle closed her eyes against the light spatter of blood that hit the side of her face. When she opened them, she whispered to Blackwell's prone body, "I don't need anyone's protection."

* * *

Jace's phone rang when they were still high in the air. It startled Clary, who jerked in her seat before pulling herself upright with the aid of her armrests.

He frowned, pulling it out. The display said Blocked Number, which could mean a number of things.

For one, it could be the Cobra's secure line. Jace realized with an internal jolt that he'd begun to think of her that way, instead of Special Agent Herondale, or just Imogen. He'd never thought of her any other way before, not even-that dreadfully mundane word that he could never reconcile with the cold woman.

With Clary staring at him with wide eyes, he finally accepted the call and put the device to his ear. "Hello?"

"Jace Herondale," an unfamiliar male voice crooned.

"Who is this?" Jace felt his eyebrows furrow and his hand clutch the phone tighter.

"You'll find out soon enough. Could you hand the phone to Clarissa, please?" The voice was cordial, mellifluous, but Jace wanted to throw the phone across the narrow plane and see it-and the voice-smash into pieces.

Instead, he snorted. "Clarissa? Why should I know where a Clarissa is?"

Clary's eyes widened, and she mouthed, "You realized that's me, right?"

Jace rolled his eyes dramatically. "Of course I do, I'm not an idiot," he mouthed right back. Clary stuck out her tongue.

"I know she's with you," the voice insisted, its tone growing impatient.

Clary reached her hand out and plucked the phone delicately from Jace's grasp. "Hello?" her voice quavered.

"Put it on speaker," Jace mouthed, taking the phone back and pressing the appropriate button as the voice said, "It's nice to speak to you again, Clarissa."

"Jonathan," Clary sighed, looking relieved, though not by much. She took the phone back from Jace. "Where's, uh, where's Valentine?"

"Not here," Jonathan said unhelpfully. "He left a message for you, though, which I'm about to deliver."

"Why don't you get on with it, then?" Clary's voice was uncharacteristically sharp; Jace wondered who this man was to her.

"You'd better come home now. I'm sure your little rat-boy doesn't want to die without you." Jonathan's voice rasped over the words with an audible sneer.

Clary sucked in a breath, and she dropped the phone.

Jace automatically ducked down to pick it up, eyes trained on her deathly white face.

"Clarissa?" the phone still pressed. "I didn't shock you too badly, did I?"

Clary's mouth opened, then closed. She was still breathing loudly, but she didn't make a noise apart from that.

"I bet he's asking himself, 'How could she leave me like that?' You two were inseparable. This was a betrayal as harsh as those our father is capable of, you know. I think you're finally living up to your heritage."

"Shut up, Jonathan. You know nothing about Simon, or me, and that hellhole is not my home!" Clary yelled suddenly.

There was silence on both ends. "I see you haven't learned to curb your tongue," Jonathan finally remarked. "Take the message seriously, Clary. You know he never jokes about this sort of matter." The line clicked as he hung up.

Jace swore inside his head as he watched Clary shudder with a breath. The pallid color of her skin made her face look fragile, like one more word would shatter her.

So he didn't speak, just waited for her to collect herself.

When he deemed it appropriate, Jace asked gently, "Do we need to go somewhere else, Clary?"

Clary shook her head. "No, we're going to the right place. Simon will be there." She sniffed and looked up at him through her lashes. "You'd do that for me?"

"Do what?"

"Put all this on hold to save a boy you don't even know."

Jace's throat tightened, and he frantically searched for a response to what felt strangely like a test. "I-well, yes. But do you mind me asking-who's Simon?"

"Simon is..." Clary began, then stopped. The pause was doing odd things to Jace's nerves, and he waited with bated breath for her to continue.

"Simon is my best friend," Clary said finally. "I haven't seen him since I left."

Jace let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. "I've been meaning to ask you-what are you doing here, anyway?"

"Um, you put me on a plane to Nevada about four hours ago, if you've forgotten," Clary said, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't deflect the question," Jace said, smiling despite himself as he remembered Clary saying the same thing to him earlier. "You know what I mean."

"I left."

"Obviously, as you're sitting in front of me right now. I mean, how did you leave? Did they let you out, or?"

"No, they didn't just let me out." Clary bit her lip. "I, uh, I sort of escaped."

"Sort of escaped," Jace echoed.

"Yeah."

"Just like that."

"No, it wasn't that easy."

"Was it like in the movies?" Jace widened his eyes at Clary's incredulous glare. "What?"

"What even-yes, it was kind of like the movies, I guess. Filled with adrenaline inducing fear, if that's what you mean." She shook her head. "Seriously?"

"And how did you get to New York?"

"Amtrak." Clary anticipated his next question, continuing, "Stole money. I know the password to Valentine's safe."

"Oh, really." Just how did she know that, Jace pondered.

"Mhm."

Jace shrugged, filing it away for later. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry about before."

"No, I'm sorry," Clary returned quickly. "I mean-I said pretty insensitive things, and I just want you to know that I didn't mean any of it."

"Well, you weren't wrong," Jace admitted.

"So you guys really are a stereotype, then?" Clary said, interested.

"Not that stereotypical," Jace shook his head, smiling. "We did get to use guns from a very early age, though."

"Really?" Clary's eyes were round. "How long have you been an agent?"

Jace hesitated. "Well, we're not technically agents yet. We're still on probationary trial."

"Which means?"

"We're part of a wave of younger candidates, part of a program the SEP was trying out. It didn't turn out that well, even though most of us were the kids of current SEP agents. People got scared, wouldn't follow through with the kill. And eventually the senior agents would have to come in and finish the missions for them, anyway, when they inevitably messed up. I think mostly it didn't live up to our dreams, life as an agent. I mean, all of us had complexes about who we were supposed to be because of our parents."

"You, too?"

"My parents are dead," Jace answered flatly.

"Oh-" Clary was taken aback. "I'm sorry."

"They died soon after I was born. I don't remember them at all." Jace looked to the side. "Isabelle and Alec are my family now."

"It's better that way, though," Clary asserted abruptly. "It's better than knowing they're out there and they don't care about you at all."

Jace shot a surprised look her way, but Clary was watching the sea of white clouds whisk by out the window.

* * *

"Isabelle, where's Jace?" Maryse asked.

"On a plane to Nevada," Isabelle answered truthfully.

"And why is that?" Maryse sounded tense, but her irritated voice set Isabelle immediately on edge.

"We're done, Mom. We found the destination of the shipments. We're just following up on what we already know."

"No, you aren't. He is. You're still here."

"Because Blackwell cornered me-"

"And why didn't Jace stay? Surely he could have saved you from the man, there was only one of him."

"I don't need saving, Mom," Isabelle said sharply.

"Watch it." Maryse pierced Isabelle with her gaze. "There's something you're not telling me."

Isabelle squirmed, but she could never hold out against her mother. "There's a girl. Not like that," she said immediately at the expression on Maryse's face, though it was a blatant lie. "She knows about the operation, and Blackwell and his partner were after her. Jace escaped with her. But I'm going to meet them there, as soon as possible."

"How could you be so stupid?" Maryse chided angrily. "Isabelle, you've jeopardized the mission. How could you think that picking up a random girl was a good idea?"

"We have not jeopardized anything. We completed the mission successfully, no thanks to you," Isabelle said, shocked at her own audacity. "And Clary is not random."

"Have you formed an emotional attachment with her? You know you're going to have to let her go sooner or later, Isabelle."

"You know, you're right. I do have an emotional attachment to Clary. In fact, I have more of an emotional attachment with her than I do with you." Isabelle crossed her arms to protect herself from the open-mouthed shock of her mother. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to get on the earliest flight to Nevada there is. And call Jace."

Isabelle stalked towards Malik, who was standing discreetly by the group of agents that had formed around Blackwell's body. "Malik, I need a flight."

Malik nodded and pulled out a Blackberry, typing efficiently as he said, "Does your mother know about this?"

"She knows," Isabelle confirmed. "How happy she is about it, I'm not sure."

To his credit, Malik didn't even glance at Maryse as he informed Isabelle, "They've just opened that flight over there. Bring this," he handed her a scribbled note, "and tell the dark haired girl at the counter that I sent you."

Isabelle smirked. "Oh, really?"

She could've sworn that Malik blushed.

"Well, thank you, Malik."

"You're welcome, Isabelle." As she turned away, Malik added, "Don't be too hard on your mother, Isabelle. She means well."

"I'm sure she does," Isabelle muttered, striding towards the gate without looking back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Perception**

Jace led Clary into the Las Vegas night air, waiting eagerly for her reaction to the showiest city in the world. True to form, Clary took in the sight hungrily, head whipping from side to side to see the neon signs, grandiose hotels, bright casinos.

She was still subdued; the phone call from the mysterious Jonathan had hurt her deeply, Jace could tell.

Jace kept close to Clary as they walked to the hotel. Isabelle called five minutes after they had checked in.

"Thank God," Jace sighed.

"Yeah, I'm alive," Isabelle replied. "And I'm on my way. Never say I don't keep my promises, Jace Herondale."

"Of course not, Isabelle."

"Sure. Anyway, what's the plan?"

"We hadn't really discussed that," Jace admitted.

"Okay. Well, I'll be there in the afternoon, so plan on that."

"We'll wait for you," Jace said, casting a quick look of confirmation to Clary. She nodded.

"See you then." Isabelle hung up.

Jace sat on the bed next to Clary. "Do you want to tell me more about what's going to go down later?"

"First, you tell me about your mission," Clary deflected.

"Okay, well, we were supposed to track the shipment back to the source. Which we did. So now we're just following up to make sure. If we were alone, Isabelle and I would probably sneak in, take some pictures, then come back and call the cavalry. On the other hand, we have no idea where the shipment would be. Which, presumably, you could tell us?"

Clary nodded. "It'll be easier to find once we're there. But he stores everything in the west wing; the warehouse where the shipments arrive is to the west, too."

Jace pondered this for a moment, then nodded. "Right. Can you get us into the warehouse?"

"Sure. There's a door on the side, and I know the key code."

"Great, that makes everything easier." Actually, this would be the easiest mission they'd ever been on.

"Then you'll be done, right?" Clary looked up swiftly.

"I guess, yeah," Jace replied. "Wait-what about you, though? Will, uh, that boy be all right?"

"I came home," Clary shrugged. "Valentine just wants me back."

"You're just going to go back to him, just like that?" Jace felt unusually opposed to that idea.

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Well-we can do something, I'm sure. I mean, you ran away from this guy. Do you really want to go back to him?"

"Of course I don't want to go back to Valentine," Clary exclaimed. "But I have no choice, okay? Simon will die if I don't play his little game, and that's a risk that I am not willing to take."

"We can help," Jace repeated.

"How?" Clary challenged, eyes suspiciously glistening.

"We'll come with you, protect you. He can't just take you," Jace insisted.

"You can't protect me from Valentine," Clary said sadly.

"Don't be so defeatist. He has no right to keep you-any of you-like this."

"He has more right than you'd think," Clary mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing. Anyway, I'm pretty sure Isabelle won't be happy with you putting the mission on hold to barge into the Morgenstern compound. Won't you get in trouble?"

Jace frowned. They would be in a lot of trouble, actually, if they deviated from the mission specifications. Taking unnecessary risks on a second chance was probably a really bad idea.

"We'll be fine," he lied. "I'm not going to let you go in there on your own, Clary."

Clary laughed. "Why do you care so much? Just let me go. I don't need to be saved, Jace."

"Well, too bad, because we're coming with you!" Jace shouted, surprising himself.

Clary was shocked too, staring at him with her mouth open.

"I didn't run away from a group of controlling bastards just to find myself stuck with another one," she spat finally.

"I'm sorry, Clary," Jace sighed. He didn't know what was going on. "I don't understand what's happening," he muttered.

"Neither do I," Clary said, but her voice was calmer, and Jace dared to look at her.

Her face was close enough for him to count the freckles on her pale skin. She looked down as he watched, the soft fringe of her eyelashes brushing her cheek. Jace brought a hand up to touch her cheek.

"Hey," he said softly. Clary's eyes opened at the touch, wide and curious.

"I promise you, there is a way to fix this." Jace looked into the green of her irises and thought that he could become obsessed with them, if he had time.

"I wish we had time," he said out loud, catching himself off-guard again.

"We still have another twelve hours," Clary reminded him with a small smile.

Jace's eyes invariably dropped to her mouth, and he closed his eyes. Was he really going to do this? he asked himself as he tilted his head forward. His hand slid down from her cheek to cup the back of her neck.

When he opened his eyes to check, Clary wasn't running away or screaming in horror; instead, her eyes had closed and her lips had parted.

Oh, God, he thought before pressing his lips against hers.

She gasped quietly, but her fingers twisted in his hair and pulled him closer. Their knees touched, torsos leaning inward and twisted to face each other. When she pulled back to breathe, Jace leaned his forehead against hers.

Clary tilted her face upward, brushing their noses together. Jace smiled and brushed his mouth against her cheekbones, breathing in the smell of her skin.

"Are you sniffing me?" she asked, a strange note in her voice.

Jace froze. "Maybe."

Clary laughed, the sound putting Jace at ease. "That's more endearing than it should be."

"That's all me," Jace joked. Clary rolled her eyes, and that was more endearing that it should have been.

"You know this is crazy," she said, and Jace's stomach dropped.

"What do you mean?" he said, though he could think of at least three reasons why.

"I mean, I don't even know how old you are, or if you have any siblings, or..." Clary trailed off, waving her hands in the space between them.

"It's not like I'm a forty year old trying to take advantage of you," Jace laughed. "But to answer your question, I'm nineteen."

"Okay." Clary appeared extremely relieved.

"What about you?" Jace asked, curious.

"Isn't there some rule about asking a lady her age?"

Jace shook his head. "You watched way too many movies."

"Shut up. I'm eighteen. I think."

"You think?"

"We didn't celebrate birthdays or anything," Clary said quietly.

Jace frowned, but Clary barrelled on before he could say anything.

"And besides that, we're never going to see each other again after this!"

Jace's stomach turned over. He'd been trying not to think about that, but the truth was that the SEP probably wouldn't take kindly to him making visits to a civilian, let alone one that was vital to an ongoing investigation. "I'll make sure we see each other after this over," he said anyway. "I'm not going to just abandon you; there's a lot of ruthless people in the ranks." He almost said, "You need protection," but stopped himself, remembering how well that had gone down beforehand.

"Jace, I'm not going to come back with you," Clary said.

"Not this again," Jace complained. "Look, once the SEP receives our mission report, they're going to come investigate anyway. Likely enough, Valentine and his associates will be arrested, and you might be taken in for questioning, but they'll observe leniency for you, considering your situation."

"Considering my situation, that is really unlikely," Clary scoffed.

"We'll make them see that you're a victim here. Don't worry. It'll take time, but you will be free, Clary," Jace declared.

Clary opened her mouth as if to object, but she seemed to think better of it and just rested her head against his shoulder.

* * *

Isabelle called Jace ahead of time, so when she stepped through the airport doors into the afternoon heat of Las Vegas, she headed directly to the hotel.

Knocking quietly on the door, she waited until Jace wrenched the sticky door open. "Hey," he said.

There was something off about him, Isabelle noticed. His smile was blindingly bright, and he was showing more emotion than he had since Alec's disappearance. Her suspicions were confirmed when he bestowed this glow upon Clary, who smiled back fleetingly.

Isabelle sighed, though she really hadn't expected anything less.

"So, when are we leaving?" Jace asked.

"Um, after you tell me the plan," Isabelle advised him.

"Right. So, we'll do what we normally would do-you know, go in, take a look, collect evidence." Jace paused. "But there's something else."

"Which is?"

Clary spoke up. "I got a call from someone close to Valentine. Someone...close to me is in danger, and I need to go back."

"But we're not going to let her go in alone," Jace interrupted, fixing Isabelle with a steely gaze.

Isabelle sighed again. "Jace."

"What? Isabelle, you know I'm right. It's just wrong to let her go back there. Besides, we need to keep her with us, you know Maryse will want to talk to her. Imogen will too."

"This is completely unnecessary," Clary interjected.

"Clary, he's right, the SEP is going to want to know how we got all our information, and if we tell them it was you, then they're going to want to talk to you."

"I can't ask you to lie and keep me out of this," Clary stated. "But trust me, it's safer for everyone my way. All Valentine wants is me, and if you get in his way, you're putting yourself at risk."

"Maryse is on the warpath," Isabelle demurred. "We can't get away with not having you on hand when they ask questions."

"Can you get away with walking into a dangerous situation for no plausible reason?" Clary questioned.

"There is a plausible reason: taking care of you," Jace reiterated.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Izzy, Alec is in there," Jace said. Clary's head jerked up.

Isabelle crossed her arms, but she knew she'd given in.

Clary stared at the both of them, then threw her hands up. "Fine. We'll do it your way. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"We can take care of ourselves." Isabelle rummaged in the bag she'd brought and pulled out a gun. "Let's go."


	9. Chapter 9

**Confrontation**

Clary knew she would have made a run for it if she didn't actually care about Isabelle and Jace.

The two were engrossed in taking pictures of the crates and discussing the game plan in low voices. She waited a foot behind them, the door inviting her. She could leave, give Valentine what he wanted, and save Simon.

But if she did, they'd just come after her, and that would be even more dangerous. Clary still didn't like the idea of them coming with her, though.

She itched to move into the cool night air, take the shortcut she and Simon had discovered so long ago before they'd been caught, and find him, tell him that everything would be okay. She shouldn't have left him in the first place; she should have waited for him, but he'd told her to go and she had listened.

"Clary, we're done here," Jace said, touching her elbow.

She lifted her chin to look at him, taking in his unusual golden eyes and bright hair. He was so gentle, in high contrast to when they had met.

Isabelle appeared by his shoulder, gun by her side. "Ready?"

Clary nodded and led them out into the night.

* * *

Isabelle frowned. "Why is the door open, anyway?"

Clary stopped with her hand on the doorframe. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

"This seems like a bad idea," Jace agreed with Isabelle.

"Why, do you want to break in from the front door? Trust me, this is the easiest way."

Clary slipped inside and suppressed a cough. The smell of cleaning fluid was pungent, and she narrowly avoided kicking over the bucket of water in the middle of the hallway.

"They're cleaning this hallway," Clary explained when Jace and Isabelle entered as well. "They must have propped the door open to let the smell out.

"Is this normal?" Isabelle asked.

"No, but under the circumstances, I suppose it's to be expected."

"Why?" Jace asked.

"Valentine puts the kids on janitor duty. It was my turn this week; I guess they hadn't gotten around to replacing me."

"Why wouldn't the kids just escape?" Isabelle looked pointedly out the door.

"Scared. Or too weak to run," Clary said curtly.

They moved forward, the fluorescent lighting completely removing the shadows. Clary wondered if she should tell the others where they were, but she didn't want to feel like a tour guide; this wasn't exactly a relaxing experience.

The group moved silently past several storage rooms until reaching a T. Clary made for the left, towards the north wing, but stopped when Isabelle tapped her shoulder.

"Clary, where would Alec be?" Isabelle asked under her breath.

Clary had almost forgotten; guiltily, she informed Isabelle, "The records room is this way. And so are some of the living quarters. We'll find him first, okay?"

Isabelle nodded, her hand slipping away as they kept walking.

* * *

Isabelle had never really believed in luck, but she decided to put more stake in it when the third room they passed in the north wing held someone familiar.

She veered to press her nose to the small window in the door, the entire hall reminiscent of a hospital. The small plaque on the door, emblazoned with the room number 405, dug into her shoulder.

She didn't care, drinking in the sight of her brother's dark hair spilling across a white pillow.

Jace's presence by her side was warm, familiar; she leaned into it, because this was his moment too.

Jace tried the handle, making a noise of frustration when it resisted his efforts. An indistinct beeping emanated in Isabelle's left ear; she saw Clary's hand on the keypad in her peripheral vision.

This time they slipped inside successfully.

Isabelle had always imagined that her reunion with Alec would involve her running at him, unable to cover the distance between them quickly enough.

In reality, her steps were sluggish and inaudible as she crossed the room to kneel, finally, by her brother's side.

She brushed the hair off of his forehead and whispered his name. He stirred, blinking before revealing the startling blue that Isabelle had missed for months.

"Izzy? What are you doing here?" Alec's voice was hoarse from disuse.

"Saving your ass," Jace returned; the words were cocky and normal but the sound was shaky.

"Jace?" Alec sat up. He was wearing a pale blue outfit that resembled hospital scrubs.

"Let's go," Jace said, offering his arm to Alec. Alec grabbed it, levering himself to a standing position, then immediately wrapped Jace in a hug.

Jace hugged back, head relaxing against Alec's shoulder, then pushed away. "No, really, we have to go."

Alec, who was in the middle of being squeezed to death by Isabelle, made a noise of assent. "One moment," he said, ducking behind the curtain that hung beside his bed.

He emerged with a pouting, still sleepy young man with gold-tinted skin and wild, spiky hair. "Magnus is coming with us," Alec said firmly.

Jace, Isabelle could see, was bubbling up with protests, but he took one look at Clary's anxious face and caved. "Fine, whatever, let's just go," Jace hissed.

Clary stared curiously at Alec and his companion, but said nothing, instead heading at a rapid pace on her own down the hall.

Jace seemed torn between taking Alec's elbow and fussing over him or following Clary. He settled for walking at an uneven pace between them, rushing forward then stopping to face Isabelle, Alec, and Magnus.

"What's wrong with him," Magnus mumbled. "He looks like a hyperactive firefly from one of my fever dreams.

Isabelle decided not to comment on that as she strained to see where Clary was going.

Jace came to an abrupt stop just out of sight around a corner, and Isabelle tugged on Alec's arm to make him move faster. They came upon Clary and Jace having a silent confrontation, the short girl speaking madly under her breath while Jace shook his head repetitively.

"Valentine is not going to tolerate the appearance of two strangers and four patients accompanying me at this point, Jace."

"I keep telling you but you don't listen. We are not leaving you here."

"You're the one who said that I'd get out after your people finish the investigation on this place."

"That could be months!"

"I can wait," Clary said, raising her eyes to his face. "Can you?"

Jace pressed his lips together. "I would if I had to, but I certainly don't want to."

"Suck it up," Clary told him succinctly.

"No, Clary, please," Jace whispered plaintively.

Clary held her ground for what seemed like ages to Isabelle. The girl finally said, "If you're not going to leave, then you must hide where I tell you to until I come find you."

"Yes," Jace said immediately, though he didn't sound too happy yet.

"Go back to Alec's room, then. Put Alec and Magnus back in their beds, then hide behind the curtain. No one will come check the rooms for hours, isn't that right?" Clary addressed her words to Alec, who nodded.

"Jace-" Clary shot a hand out to stop Jace from turning as the four began to head back.

Isabelle strained her ears, but she couldn't make out the words that Clary whispered in his ear. When Jace rejoined them, he looked shaken.

"What did she say?" Isabelle asked gently.

"If she doesn't come back, we leave," Jace recited flatly.

"Are you going to?"

"What else are we supposed to do?" Jace spoke without inflection, head fixed facing forward as they crept through the eerie silence.

* * *

Clary had never felt so alone, not even when she was wandering the streets of New York, free for the first time.

Everything was so familiar, so sterile and stainless and shiny and unfeeling. Familiarity didn't comfort her at all.

She was stretched thin, ready to snap at the least noise. But her world was soundless-no, this world was soundless. When she had left, her senses had burst with a cacophony of sound, a rainbow of color, the richness of the outside filling her full to the brim.

This place was leaching all of this out of her, and soon she would be as empty as before. But it would be worse; she had a taste of what could have been, and to return to oblivion after having everything was pain beyond imagination.

The handle on the door to the room she knew they would be in was searingly cold, a physical pain to accompany the trap she was putting her life in by giving in to Valentine.

Clary surveyed the room as she stepped inside. There was Jonathan, his usual smirk present, standing straight beside Valentine, their similar appearance as apparent as always. Valentine's sharp features did not soften as he caught sight of Clary, which was to be expected. Clary paid them no attention, focusing on the motionless shape beneath the white sheets on the cot in the center of the room.

"What happened to him?" Clary choked out.

"Your exit caused a great deal of commotion, Clarissa," Valentine drawled. "Such a use of resources, and all that shooting meant a great deal of noise and property damage. It's impossible to know how he came to be lying unconscious in that hallway, but I'll allow you to speculate."

Clary fought against it, but her mind conjured up an image of Simon deterring the guards with weak kicks and punches while she ran, fright overtaking her mind.

"He's been like this for a week?"

"His deterioration began quite recently, actually. He was doing so well, we decided to continue his treatment," Jonathan revealed, his smirk only growing.

"You gave him the drug?" Clary searched for words to hurl at the men who had systematically ruined her life for years.

"Too long without treatment and the enterprise loses its integrity, Clarissa," Valentine said calmly.

"Oh, and we can't have that, can we now," Clary flared before either man could continue. "Will he recover?"

"Of course he'll recover," Jonathan said. "In fact, now that you're here, the research is no longer imperiled. Father is pleased, aren't you?" Jonathan's face was uplifted, and Valentine smiled approvingly.

Her anger roiled and spit flame inside of Clary, and her vision flickered out until her family were merely silhouettes against the implacable white of her existence.

* * *

"Who is he?" Isabelle asked.

Alec turned on his side to look down at her as she lay on the floor. "Magnus is my roommate," Alec said, like it was obvious.

Which it was, but that wasn't what Isabelle was getting at. "Seriously, what is it with my brothers and picking up strays," Isabelle muttered to herself.

"He's not a stray-well, I guess he sort of is, but he's Magnus," Alec rambled. "He was there to talk to when I thought I would go mad from loneliness and the silence and missing you. We talked for a month, and I cannot leave him here to wait alone for someone else, Izzy."

Isabelle looked at Alec, whom she knew better than anyone else, and saw the truth. "You know I will always protect the people you and Jace love." That sentiment had practically ruled this entire week.

Alec flushed, but didn't deny it. Isabelle knew that Jace could hear their conversation, and she lifted the bottom of the curtain to include him.

There was no one there.

* * *

"Clarissa, look at me," Valentine commanded.

Clary did. She stared into his dark eyes and wished looks could kill. "You are a monster, Valentine Morgenstern," she said hatefully.

Valentine sighed. "Every time we speak, I tell you not to use my name when speaking to me. Really, Clarissa, sometimes I think you're a lost cause."

"Maybe I am, Father," Clary spat. "But you continue to put your faith in me and my dreams, continue to imprison me here. Why can't you just let me go?"

Valentine was distracted from his answer as Jonathan suddenly lifted a gun and pointed it at Jace's head.

Clary hadn't heard Jace come into the room, but she heard him now as he said, "Father, huh?"

She closed her eyes and dropped her head, which was apparently answer enough for Jace.

"Well, that makes things a bit more complicated," Jace quipped.

"Put the gun down, boy. This is none of your business," Jonathan snarled.

"Who are you calling boy?" Jace scoffed, not moving a finger.

Valentine smirked. "Jace Herondale. The Society has finally found me, has it? I was wondering how long it would take for you to stop chasing your own tails in Europe. Of course, my daughter here facilitated that process quite significantly."

Clary jutted her chin stubbornly under Valentine's gaze.

"By the way, I have to thank you for keeping her alive," Valentine continued. "Her loss would have been unwelcome."

"Unwelcome?" Jace said incredulously. "She's your daughter. Is that all you can say?"

"Does it look like I have a good relationship with him, Jace?" Clary muttered.

"Clarissa is very important to me," Valentine said.

"As an experiment," Jace clarified.

"Yes," Valentine replied smoothly.

Jace looked like he was going to throw his arms up in the air and stalk away, except for the fact that he was training a gun on Valentine.

"When will Simon wake up?" Clary asked.

"Soon," Jonathan answered. "He actually died for a moment yesterday, but we were able to revive him, and his blood pressure has settled significantly."

Clary felt like she was going to throw up. "Thank you, Jonathan, for all that necessary detail."

A phone rang, the sound jolting and completely incongruous with the situation. When nobody moved, Jonathan said, "Well, it's not mine."

Jace sighed. "It's mine."

Neither Jonathan nor Jace took their hands off their guns. Jace raised an eyebrow at Clary's expression. "What? You want us to call a mutual truce so I can check my phone?"

"It could have been important," Clary defended. "And you should call a mutual truce anyway. Don't your arms get tired?"

"Little sister, you always talked too much," Jonathan sneered. "But really, just shut up."

"Don't talk to her like that," Jace snapped.

"Boys!" Valentine said sharply. "Jonathan, enough squabbling. As for you, run back to your little friends. I've let this farce go on too long. Tell your grandmother that if she wants any of her precious minions to stay alive, she should leave me alone." Valentine smiled unpleasantly.

"Go, Jace," Clary said softly as Jace remained stubbornly in place. "There's nothing you can do here."

She allowed herself to glance at him and was surprised by the fierce protectiveness in his gaze.

Jace took his eyes off of Jonathan for the briefest of moments, but it was enough.

The deep gold of his eyes was the last thing Clary saw before the white world exploded.

* * *

When Isabelle's phone rang, she scrambled to answer. "Hello?" she said under her breath.

"Isabelle. Where are you?"

"In Nevada," Isabelle answered shiftily.

"So am I," Maryse replied.

"What?" Isabelle said a little too loudly.

Alec conveyed his shock and irritation with his eyebrows. Isabelle waved him away.

"Through an operation that's too complicated and above your paygrade for me to explain, the SEP has discovered the source of the various kidnappings and shady shipments by both Blackwell Companies and Pangborn Industries. The cavalry is all out on this one, Isabelle," Maryse said, energized. "We're going to take them down, once and for all-no reservations. I'm coming to get you."

"Uh, that's not necessary, Mom."

"It is very necessary," Maryse asserted.

"No, really. We're actually already here."

"Where?" Maryse asked tensely.

"We're inside Morgenstern's compound," Isabelle finally admitted.

"Inside," Maryse repeated weakly.

Isabelle waited, completely still, as she listened to Maryse shouting to the others that they were not to shoot as they pleased, her daughter and Jace Herondale were in there.

"A team is already inside," Maryse informed Isabelle shakily. "They're looking out for you and Jace."

"Mom, there's something else you should know."

"What is it?" Maryse sounded tired.

"Alec is here, too. We found him, Mom."

Isabelle didn't know what she was expecting: maybe for Maryse to start jumping up and down and squealing? The image stuck with her, and she had to suppress the unnatural urge to laugh.

Instead she received a profound silence, then finally the words, "Thank you."

* * *

Confusion was loud, a continuous racket of gunfire, unfamiliar voices shouting, Jace shouting, Jonathan snarling, Valentine laughing.

A strong hand grabbed Clary by the arm, pulling her against a broad chest. She looked up, dazed; the grim-faced man shoved her out the door into the arms of another man.

"Let go," she protested, but the man held on expressionlessly.

Clary craned her neck to see what was going on, but she only caught a glimpse of intense hand-to-hand combat, guns abandoned on the floor, before the man wrenched her head back.

"Lighten up," she muttered, but Clary did appreciate the efforts to keep her head from being blown off by a stray bullet.

Another man in a flak vest jogged up. "We found the Lightwoods."

"I'll call Maryse," the man holding Clary said. He looked down at her, then amended, "After this is over, I guess."

"What's going on in there?"

"Well, by now, I think they should have gotten it under control," Clary's captor said.

A bundle of men tumbled out of the door, punching and struggling with each other. Clary raised an eyebrow at Jonathan, who was punching the agent under him in the face.

"Kick him," she told the flak-vested man. "He deserves it."

The man readily aimed a kick at Jonathan's ribs, and Jonathan hunched over, groaning. The agent rolled out from underneath him and pointed a gun at his head.

"Cuff him already," he told Flak Vest.

A few seconds later, Jonathan was scowling and murderous, but cuffed and impotent.

"Clarissa, you'll regret this," he hissed. "Selling out your own family? You are going to hell."

"Speak for yourself," Clary countered. "I guess I'll see you there, then."

Jonathan growled, and the agent he'd punched yanked on the cuffs. "Shut up."

Valentine was paraded out the door next, leading a tail of austere agents in various states of dishevelment. Valentine himself was somehow still impeccable. The pressed suit and his delicate, haughty features enhanced the effect as he looked down his nose at Clary.

"Spare me," Clary requested, mock-politely.

Valentine shook his head at her. "You had so much potential."

"I would say the same for you, but you really didn't. Goodbye, Valentine."

Valentine pressed his lips together and marched off, the agents following him like ducklings.

Jace emerged last. "Malik," he greeted. "Would you mind letting go of Clary, here?"

Malik loosened his grip hesitantly. "Jace-"

"It's okay. She's on our side," Jace said firmly. Malik stepped away with a curt nod.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Jace asked, moving into Clary's personal space. She didn't mind.

"To quote Special Agent Herondale, this is the culmination of months of hard work after collecting years of evidence, and we should celebrate it for the success that it will be," Malik said dryly.

"If she was already working on it, then why did she send us out to find the source of the shipments?" Jace asked.

"You'll have to ask her." Malik shrugged noncommittally. "Sorry, Jace."

Jace's expression darkened, and he nodded at Malik. "It's not your fault."

"Remember that when Maryse catches up to you," Malik suggested, deadpan. With that, he walked away to supervise the inspection of a small room down the hall (which Clary knew was, in fact, just a janitor's closet).

"Are you okay?" Jace asked, an edge in his tone. He touched Clary's face briefly before snatching his hand back.

"I've never been better," Clary admitted. She took his hand back and curled her fingers into his.

"You sure?"

"Valentine and Jonathan are finally gone, Simon isn't really dying anymore, I'm truly free, and you found your brother," Clary summarized. "What more do you want?"

Jace smiled, but he still rubbed her hand nervously. "I mean, there's the matter of what the Cobra is going to do with you, and then there's Magnus, and the entire bureaucracy of the SEP and miles of red tape-"

"You are really ruining the moment, Jace Herondale," Clary scolded.

"We were having a moment?" Jace asked innocently. Clary almost believed him and was about to recoil when his mouth twitched.

"Ouch!" Jace flinched away from her hand. "You slap like a bitch."

"And the insults just keep coming," Clary commented.

Clary watched Jace's eyes crinkle at the corners and listened, smiling, to the free sound of his laughter.

* * *

_A/N: One more chapter! Thanks for reading :)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Conclusion**

"I'm sorry, Agent Lightwood, no visitors," the guard repeated nervously.

His anxiety wasn't completely unfounded; Isabelle's glare was a force of nature. She leveled it remorselessly at him for the umpteenth time in four weeks. "I'm sure you'll be receiving orders to let me in any time now, so why postpone the inevitable?" Isabelle said sweetly.

"Special Agent Herondale has not indicated anything of the sort in regards to the prisoner," the guard replied.

"For the last time, she is not a prisoner, nor does she deserve to be one," Isabelle said, exasperated. "Please let me in?"

Isabelle cursed her luck as the guard shook his head, having weathered similar attacks before. "Sorry, Agent Lightwood, but for the last time, I'm not willing to risk my position on this."

"I understand," Isabelle said graciously. "But if no one found out, would you reconsider?"

She thought she saw him roll his eyes as he emphatically told her, "No."

Alec rounded the corner at that moment and pulled on her hair. "Stop terrorizing the guards, Iz."

"Get out of here, Alec, I'm only trying to help Clary."

"It's not fair to the guards to make them break the rules for you," Alec chided gently.

"Speak for yourself about bending the rules," Isabelle scoffed, gesturing at Magnus, who grinned at her from over Alec's shoulder. "Really?"

"You didn't see any of this," Alec told the guard, trying to keep a straight face and failing.

"Of course, sir," the guard said long-sufferingly.

"You listen to him?" Isabelle protested, but Alec dragged her away.

"It's been four weeks," she reiterated once Alec had judged a safe distance for her to rant. "She hasn't done anything wrong. Clary's the victim here, can't they see?"

Alec, who had heard all this before, shook his head. "You know they aren't the most reasonable people, Izzy."

"And where's Jace? This is definitely the time for him to use his charming persuasion on the guards."

"That only works when the guard is a girl," Alec reminded Isabelle.

"The next change of the guard has Kaelie Meadows, right?"

"You know, that might actually work," Alec mused. "Remember when we were still in school? She had the biggest crush on him."

Magnus coughed a laugh. "Girls."

"But anyway, that doesn't matter. Jace finally got his audience with the Cobra."

"Oh, God," Isabelle sighed. "That is not going to end well."

"Or it'll end really well, if Jace can keep his mouth shut for once," Alec said, grasping weakly at straws.

"And when has that ever happened?" Isabelle said to no one in particular.

* * *

"Really, Imogen?" Jace asked flatly. "Most grandparents would want to see their grandchildren. But then, with you I should have expected to be put on hold for-oh, what is it now? Four weeks?"

"Calm down, Mr. Herondale," the Cobra said calmly.

"Special Agent Herondale," Jace corrected with a grin.

"Do you expect me to treat you as if you have responsibility when you act like an infant?" The thin eyebrow twitched upward.

His grandmother had always made him want to throw a tantrum, though it had more dire consequences now than before, Jace mused.

He resisted the urge to swear at Imogen Herondale's unlined face and stalk out, instead taking a deep breath and forcing a smile.

"Now that I finally have your audience, I am putting in a personal and heartfelt request to release Clarissa Morgenstern from questioning," Jace said, watching the Cobra's expression warily.

Disappointingly, her face was a mask as she replied, "Of course she will be released. Once we're done with her."

"You were done with her weeks ago," Jace gritted out. Don't lose your temper, he told himself.

"You know nothing of the proceedings," the Cobra asserted, narrowing her eyes.

She truly fulfilled her nickname with that expression. Jace pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger to make himself continue.

"I know Clary, and she will have told you everything you wanted. She has nothing to hide here."

The ensuing silence from the Cobra was immensely unnerving. Jace twisted his fingers behind his back. "What?" he blurted defensively.

"I'm trying to decide which issue to address first: why you would presume to know an asset so well, or why you think the girl would feel free to sell out her brother and her father."

Jace couldn't help the gape-mouthed, incredulous expression that passed over his face at that statement. "Haven't you heard a word she's said? They oppressed her practically since she was born. She was not happy with them, and they were not nice people. She doesn't think of them as her family at all!"

"And you know this how?"

The Cobra's poker face was really starting to get on Jace's nerves, though he'd once aspired to emulate that same face. "It's not exactly a foreign feeling to me," Jace spat, wincing at the petulance of his words.

But they had an unexpected effect on the Cobra, who stood abruptly, her chair dragging shrilly against the floor. "Don't you dare feel sorry for yourself," she hissed. "You have had a privileged life, and the honor to serve your country and save lives. This family has given everything for you to have better opportunities than others your age here. Don't you dare treat that like it's nothing."

"It has never been nothing to me," Jace countered.

"Then show your appreciation and don't whine like a child," the Cobra admonished.

"I'm sure you know this, but you have to be the worst grandmother in the world," Jace exploded, cold iron twisting in his gut. "You sent my partner and me on a wild goose chase across the world, away from where we wanted to be most. Did you think that you were being helpful? Let me tell you, it was the opposite." Jace slammed his palms against the desk and turned to the door.

"Jace Herondale, stop right there," the Cobra ordered, and her tone was so dangerous that it cut through Jace's anger and stopped him in his tracks.

"I have only ever done what I thought best for you."

Jace huffed his disgust.

"I can't explain my motives to you-you wouldn't understand. But please, think about everything that's happened, and then tell me if you haven't found anything good at all."

Jace swiveled and let his eyes rest on his grandmother as he thought. He thought about Clary, her bright eyes and hair and smile, quick and rare. He thought about saving her from her past and how that made him feel. He thought about Alec, his brother by all but blood, home and making Isabelle laugh and roll her eyes as energetically as ever.

He thought that three things that made him happy was more than enough for someone in this life, really.

* * *

Clary pressed her ear to the door, but it was as soundproof as ever. She thought she could survive another day if she heard any voice at all-just a snippet of a conversation, some idle gossip maybe?

It had been approximately two days since anyone had spoken to her, and Clary was bored out of her mind. She wondered if you could lose your voice from underuse.

This had happened before; these bouts of silence really depended on who was standing outside her interrogation room. Only this time, it had been two changes of stoically silent guards, and so an extra dose of boredom.

One time, Malik had opened the door and let her sit in the entrance while he stood dutifully next to her. That day he'd given her news about the outside world, confined to the SEP-which had turned out to be as interesting as a soap opera, with Malik's dry viewpoints on the power plays and drama running through the levels of the organization.

Clary was so engrossed that she had almost forgot her original plan to abstract his phone and call Jace. In the end, Malik had handed it over with the line already connecting.

She hadn't talked to Jace or Isabelle since. And on top of that, no visitors or calls meant that she hadn't seen Simon either, though Isabelle assured her that he had woken up and was recovering well. Clary could enjoy some relief from that, but she still hated that her last memory of her best friend was of him in a coma.

"This is so pointless," she told the upper right corner of her holding room. The camera stared back emotionlessly. She hadn't expected much more.

"Your questions are pointless, too," Clary continued. "It's very obvious that Valentine is a madman pushed to the edge, with too much time and intelligence. And maybe one day this will get through to you, but I have willingly told you everything you wanted to know. So please, at least invent new questions, because these repeat ones are really boring."

"Why are you talking to yourself?" a high, curious voice asked.

Clary considered feigning innocence, but swallowed her dignity and turned around.

The little boy standing in the open doorway was really the last thing she'd expected to see.

"I've been here a while," Clary explained weakly.

The boy put his hands on his hips in a way that made Clary think of Isabelle's listen-to-me pose.

"Why?"

What a simple question to require such a convoluted answer, Clary thought.

"Max Lightwood!" A tall blonde with blue eyes stopped lithely behind him, frowning mightily. "What are you doing down here?"

"Why aren't you guarding her room?" Max returned blithely.

"It was only for a moment," the girl defended automatically. "How did you open the door? Don't say it wasn't locked, because it was."

"I can't tell you, but it's part of my secret super skill set," Max confided with wide eyes.

"Why your mother lets you learn pickpocketing, I will never know," the blond girl sighed. "Let's stop bothering this girl now. Go!"

"But Kaelie, she hasn't answered my question yet," Max pouted impressively.

Kaelie cast a suffering look in Clary's direction.

Clary wiped the grin off her face and knelt by Max.

"My family is all kinds of messed up, and I can help your family prove it. But they don't really trust me since I'm still a Morgenstern, I suppose. So I have to wait until they have what they want before I can have what I want."

"That's not fair. You said you were bored. I hate being bored, it makes me want to run and scream." Max looked at her sympathetically.

"It's not so bad," Clary hedged, though it really was. "It won't be much longer, I hope."

"I'll tell my mom to let you out," Max promised.

"You don't have to do that for me," Clary said.

"It's not just for you. I know who you are," Max declared.

Clary's eyes widened as he continued, "You're the girl my brothers and sister always talk about. I came here to see what you were like, and if you really deserve what they say. I think you do."

"Thank you?"

"And Jace really needs you to not be here, so I'm going to tell my mom that she needs to let you out before Jace drives us all insane."

"Oh, no, that's not really-"

"Wow, thanks, Max," Jace said. "And here I thought I'd been hiding it so well."

"Not a good idea," Clary finished quietly. "Hi."

"Good afternoon, Clary. And how are you today?" Jace asked solemnly.

"As good as I'll ever be," Clary replied, mouth twitching upwards on the left.

"I thought you were bored," Max said, confused.

"No one can be bored with me around," Jace asserted. "Isn't that right, Clary?"

"I've been reunited with you for less than a minute and you already want me to boost your ego?" Clary said incredulously.

"My pathological need for attention is in full effluence when you're around," Jace returned with the bright flash of a truly happy smile.

"Can I expect a lot of that?"

"You can expect it for as long as you want." Jace ruffled Max's hair. "Max, would you like to help escort Miss Morgenstern out of her cell? She is free to go."

"But I didn't talk to Mom yet," Max said, imitating Jace and taking Clary's elbow.

"It's okay." Jace took Clary's hand in his own. "I influenced my own grandparental authority figure pretty well."

Outside the cell, Kaelie's eyes flicked downward to Jace and Clary's joined hands, then up to Jace's face with a tiny pout. Jace grinned widely at her.

"Agent Meadows, Clary is free to go. I expect you'll follow the customary procedure for a newly vacated interrogation room."

"You can count on me, Jace," Kaelie said a bit wistfully.

"I know," Jace said all too gleefully, and Clary pinched him. "Ouch!"

"Don't be an asshole," she chided him.

"Language, there's a little boy right there," Jace scolded in turn.

"I know what that means," Max informed them petulantly. "Isabelle called the guard that behind his back yesterday."

"Did she, now," Jace said. "I don't think Agent Carstairs really deserved that. Where is she, anyway?"

"She's looking for you to seduce Kaelie. Magnus told me," Max reported dutifully. "But you don't really need to anymore."

"You've been talking to Magnus?" Jace asked, mildly horrified.

"Yes! He's cool. He gave me some glitter to put in my hair, but Mom got mad and made me take a shower," Max said, voice going from excited to forlorn.

Clary couldn't hold in the laughter at that, but Max didn't take offense.

"Look, he's over there," Max announced, letting go of Clary's arm to run over to Magnus. "Hi Magnus! I found Jace, but there isn't any seducing to see, sorry."

"Too bad," Magnus sighed. "I was waiting for something funny to happen today. Oh, hello, Clary. How's freedom?"

"Great," Clary said, but Magnus had already moved on to calling for Alec in a voice hilariously similar to a lady beckoning her poodle.

Alec appeared with Isabelle in tow. "Clary!" Isabelle exclaimed, and Clary was suddenly enveloped in the smell of vanilla shampoo as Isabelle hugged her.

Jace cracked up, pointing at Clary and repeating, "Your face, oh my God," as Isabelle released Clary and stepped back.

Clary shook off her surprise as Isabelle babbled on about how she'd missed Clary, and what she'd almost resorted to in order to get her out, and why she was so glad Clary was finally here because Jace was a pain in the ass when he didn't get what he wanted.

"He is no longer allowed to be a pain in the ass," Clary asserted, poking Jace in the shoulder.

Jace grinned, but his manner was far from joking as he replied, "You won't ever have to worry about that again."

Clary's skin went cold in an entirely pleasant sensation. "Oh, really? Why's that?"

Jace laced their fingers together. "Because I have everything I could ever want."

Isabelle coughed loudly. "Okay, Max, let's go visit Simon again. Didn't you want to give him those comic books of yours?"

"Wait!" Clary called. "Can I come?"

"Of course, he's your best friend," Isabelle reminded Clary in an exasperated tone.

Waving to the others, Clary caught up with the siblings and fixed Isabelle with an inquisitive stare. "So, have you been visiting him often?"

She could have sworn she saw Isabelle blush, and Max informed her, "Every single day. Magnus says they're almost as bad as you and Jace. Isabelle thinks Magnus and Alec are even grosser, though."

There was definitely a blush, Clary decided, letting go of the topic with a shake of her head.

* * *

Simon was sitting on his bed, propped up by fluffy white pillows and reading a comic book with avid interest. The heart monitor by his bed spiked alarmingly when Clary tackled him into a hug, but it settled as he dropped the comic to hug her back.

Clary squeezed Simon as tight as she could and felt him do the same. "Your hair smells amazing," she commented.

"Hot showers every day, here," Simon answered. "It's heaven."

Clary pulled back a little, an involuntary grin splitting her face. She could have said so many things-I'm glad you're alive, thank God it's over, my family is a bunch of assholes-but she just wriggled onto the bed next to Simon like when they were children and smirked. "So I hear you've gotten to know Isabelle here pretty well."

Simon's blush was impossible to hide, accompanied by him blurting, "Not really-I mean, yes?"

Max laughed outright at that, earning him a glare from Isabelle. "Max, go find the nurse and ask her when Simon is going to be discharged."

"Fine," Max said, scampering in the opposite direction.

"Besides, what about you?" Simon said, recovering his voice. "Tall, blond agent ringing any bells?"

"You forgot handsome," Jace said, walking smoothly to join Isabelle in standing by the bed. "Izzy, Mom just sent me to tell you that we need to negotiate housing for Simon once he's discharged. She suggested that Clary move in with you for now."

"Sure, if that's okay with her," Isabelle said agreeably.

"Wait, we get to stay?" Clary said incredulously.

"They'll probably still want to talk to you until this case is wrapped up, and by then-um, well we can think about that later," Jace amended with a shifty look.

"You are a moron," Isabelle told Jace. "Let's go."

Clary turned back to Simon to see him in a fit of laughter. "What?"

Simon took a deep breath to say, "You know, the case is going to take a year or so to wrap up."

"So?"

"When an agent turns 18, he or she is allowed to move into their own housing in an SEP-owned neighborhood, which, Isabelle informs me, she and Jace already have."

Simon laughed again at Clary's blank look. "He almost asked you to move in with him, you dork."

"Oh!" Clary was frozen for a moment.

Simon pushed her off the bed. "Go and talk to him, idiot. They went that way."

Clary scrambled in the direction of Simon's finger, catching sight of Jace and Isabelle at the end of the long hallway outside the ward. "Jace!"

He turned, and Clary saw Isabelle say something to Jace and slap his shoulder. Jace jogged up to Clary. "What's up?"

"You know, it's not like I have any parents to object to me moving in with you," Clary said bluntly.

"What?" Jace stared at her, and Clary felt the curl of embarrassment tug at her stomach.

"Unless that isn't what you meant," she trailed off.

"No! No, it is what I meant-wait, you're not scared off? I thought it was moving too fast," Jace said.

"It is a little fast-"

"Especially since I don't know if you wanted to go to college, maybe, or even stay here-because would you want to stay here after they've treated you so terribly? And you're free now, you could have anything you wanted," Jace interrupted.

Clary met Jace's frantic gaze for a moment before laughing. "I do want to stay here with you. I mean, I never really considered college-it never seemed like a viable option, since I've never been to school, but I would like to go. That doesn't change anything, though," Clary assured him. "I don't know what I want to do with all this freedom, but I think I should spend a huge majority of it with you."

Jace ducked his head and kissed her quickly, a little awkwardly because they were both smiling so hugely. "I'll be back after we figure out what's going to happen with the housing. And then we'll do whatever you want, okay?"

"Okay," Clary said.

She went back inside the ward after that, where Max had rejoined Simon in perusing the comic. Simon looked up when she sat on the edge of the bed.

"So I'm getting discharged tomorrow," Simon said. "My recovery has been 'swift and smooth,' as Max says the nurse says."

"That's amazing," Clary said, the unquenchable smile returning again.

Simon scrutinized her face for a moment. "So, you're happy, then?"

"Yes," Clary said decidedly. "I am happy."

* * *

_A/N: The End! I really enjoyed writing this story, and it was extremely freeing, so different from Arrogance and Naivete. Though I do have more ideas in mind, school is so busy that I will not have time to write a full story with timely updates like I have before. So for now, it's goodbye, lovely readers. Thank you for reading and please, give feedback in a review! It's the best help, and a compliment that you would take the time to show me what I've done right or wrong._

_~Sami_


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